


The Sun as a Crown

by ActualHurry



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragons, Fairy Tale Elements, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22644889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActualHurry/pseuds/ActualHurry
Summary: The people of Galar live in fear of the dragon that has recently nested in the region's highest mountain's peak. Regent Rose announces a challenge to the kingdom: the first person to ascend the mountain and return with the dragon’s heart could claim the throne as rightful successor.Knight Champion Leon, undefeated and heroic, rises to the occasion.
Relationships: Dande | Leon/Kibana | Raihan
Comments: 71
Kudos: 577





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kbdn tied knots around me until I finished this ridiculous thing. I don’t even LIKE writing AUs, especially not AUs that require worldbuilding (I don’t have the patience!!!), but here I am! I wrote a fantasy AU. Why, you ask? Well, I hate my hands, you see… 
> 
> Of note:
> 
>   * The setting is medieval-lite, low fantasy…extremely “Fire Emblem meets Beauty and the Beast”...at least in my head.
>   * This is a feel-good, lighthearted jaunt! We are jopping straight into fairy tale fun land. The kind with almost no conflict. Please enjoy.
>   * Haha…if you play FFXIV at all, you’ll know exactly how I’m picturing Raihan: a Xaela without the horns, but with his scales more scattered, less structured. [Click for reference.](https://ffxiv.consolegameswiki.com/mediawiki/images/8/84/Au_Ra_xaela.png)
>   * Rating will go up. :-)
>   * [Soundtrack.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ABkbyXw0KE)
> 


From castle to towns to fields, Galar is an old, old kingdom, but the story of the dreadful dragon preying its lands is not so very old at all.

It had begun with whispered rumors passing from mouth to ear, a daisy chain of unfounded and rarely verifiable tales. First, it had been one girl, young enough to dodge fieldwork and housework and really any sort of work, who had claimed to anyone who would listen that she had seen a cloud that looked _exactly_ like a dragon way up over the tallest, biggest mountain’s peak. Then, it was a worried housewife, gossiping with her friends that perhaps the thunder the night before had sounded a bit like a roar, hadn’t it?

Then some cattle had disappeared from an honest farmer’s land, and someone — no telling who, now — had said, _well, isn’t it simple? You see, the dragon must have taken them._

And so the wildfire words had spread. Within a fortnight, the whole region expected a dragon to swoop down from the heavens and snatch them up. Soon after, all manners of problems and disappearances were being blamed on Galar’s dragon. The savage winds that blew down from the mountain? The dragon had sent them with its wide, wide wings. The blistering cold, out of season for springtime? The dragon’s fault, a curse upon their fields.

The people had clamored for a solution. What are we to do, they’d asked, when there is a dragon waiting for us to let our guard down, to ravage our homes, to take our children, to doom our crops?

There was only one thing for it. Finally, Regent Rose, current keeper of the throne in absence of an heir, announced a challenge to the kingdom. 

The first person to ascend the mountain and return with the dragon’s heart could claim the throne as rightful successor.

This had been enough to entice the panicked Galarians – some incensed over cattle losses, some frustrated by their wives’ sudden, strange interest in the draconian. Knights and peasants alike had set out to the mountain, the arduous journey made worse by testy weather and jagged paths. Impossible terrain had forced some back. For others, it’d been the plummeting nighttime temperatures that’d sent them packing.

Some had not returned at all. The dragon, reasoned the people, must be a fearsome beast indeed.

Those who’d been lucky enough to make it back bore terrible claims of gnashing fangs and breaths of fire. They’d been blessed by any and all spirits to be able to escape with their lives! And while relief had met every soul who still had their wits about them and bodies in one piece, there had still been the knowledge that far above their kingdom, waiting on that mountain top, was a dragon who would stop at nothing to rip open and tear apart each challenger. What if, people had wailed, the monster even reveled in it now that it had a taste for human flesh?

Now, all of Galar wonders when the nightmare will end – or worse still, when the dragon will grow tired of meager scraps coming to it, and venture into the towns for its meals. 

Two months into the hunt, the young knight Leon, originally of the town Postwick and now in service to the Regent, receives a letter from his brother.

_Lee —_

_Mom says you need to visit, and Grandma and Grandpa hope you’re doing well! They all wanted me to put that in, soon as I told them I was writing to you. You know we all miss you, right? But I always tell them that you’re the Regent’s most trusted knight, so of course you stay busy. Bet the other knights haven’t even gotten close to taking you down. You’re the best!_

_Things are kind of a mess here, though…_

Within the day, Leon has already prepared to head up to the mountain.

It appears that the dragon must finally meet its match.

* * *

“Leon,” says Regent Rose. His raised brows speak of shock. His parted lips show unhappiness. “ _You_ are to undertake the challenge?” 

Leon rises from his respectful kneeling position, slowly but surely. He nods. Loud, unashamed, he says, “I understand that I am your champion knight, and it must worry you. But the kingdom knows peace right now — aside from this dragon.”

Silence greets his words, echoing around the cobblestone walls. Light spills in through the colossal, gorgeous windows that sit over the throne Rose occupies.

Leon presses, “There’s no greater reason for me to take this on. I cannot call myself champion of _anything_ if I don’t rise to the occasion.” 

Next to Rose, Advisor Oleana stands, wearing an equally stunned expression. The large, open room is empty save for the three of them. As the only undefeated knight of Rose’s guard and the knights of Galar, Leon is glad he’s earned a solitary audience with them. 

“And you believe you would do well to take the throne?” Rose finally says. “It is quite a lot of responsibility, Leon. More than you know.” 

“I…” Leon pauses. “I hadn’t thought of that aspect. I only wanted to take away the peoples’ fear. I admit, I have a personal stake, but it isn’t my ambition to the throne.” 

Rose and Oleana share a glance.

“I see,” Rose says. “What’s your stake, then?” 

Leon immediately becomes more animated, dropping all solemnity: “As you know, my family comes from Postwick. They all still reside there, and my brother’s duties mainly consist of caring for the sheep. He wrote me. The dragon has stolen his prized sheep, and my family will not be the same without her.”

Well, he’s fuzzing the truth, but only a little. The prized sheep is actually his brother’s pet, Wooloo, the favorite of the flock. Leon knows what it must have taken for Hop to write him about the problem, and he knows that he must blame himself. Thus, only one solution remains: Leon will rescue Wooloo, return her to Hop, and that’s that.

In the case that Wooloo is beyond rescuing…Leon doesn’t much like thinking of that.

“Stolen?” echoes Rose, his dark eyebrows raising.

“The dragon does not simply steal,” Oleana adds. “It _devours_.” 

“I understand that.” Leon grins then. “But you’re aware of my record! If our finest knights cannot defeat me, then what is a dragon but an oversized lizard?” 

This time, the glance shared between Rose and Oleana is less dubious and more entirely disbelieving. Leon, confident, is about to excuse himself to finish preparations for his journey when Rose looks back at him, lips thin.

“You are still employed under my command,” Rose says. “If I wanted to stop you, I could order you to stay.” 

Leon stills completely. “Why would you stop me?” 

“Because I do not wish to see you meet your end at the fangs and claws of some wretched creature,” Rose tells him, as if baffled that he must explain himself. “You are better than this, Leon. You inspire the people. Is that not enough for you? Must you also play savior?” 

That it’s even a question seems strange to him. Leon shakes his head, sudden and jerky in his surety. “How can inspiring ever be enough, if I’m not living up to my own aspirations?” He feels his grin return in force, and then he’s bowing. “With all due respect, Regent, the dragon must go. And there’s no one else who can do it but me.”

“Many have already tried,” Rose calls out. 

Leon is already halfway out, striding briskly away. Over his shoulder, he shouts with a grin, “Then I will be the last to do so! Send no one else!”

He pushes open the wide, heavy door, and it slams shut behind him. Formalities have never been his strong suit, but he’s sure the Regent will understand his haste. 

Leon’s first stop is the kitchens to acquire food for his journey. The staff there are friendly with him thanks to his many post-skirmish large meals, and they’re eager to help, loading him down with all the food he can possibly carry in a rucksack. It’s nothing that will spoil too soon: dried meats and tough breads make up the majority of his rations, and Leon thanks everyone profusely.

He gears up next. He packs a lighter change of clothing, a loose tunic and trousers, and an extra pair of thin undergarments. Leather boots are tossed in with them; he can’t very well go around wearing his sabatons and greaves if he has to make a stop at an inn. He’d look a fool. 

Speaking of his sabatons and greaves – he puts on his armor for now. He won’t need it, not until he ventures closer to the mountain’s peak, but to be recognized as a knight will keep him from any trouble on his way there. Leon, unlike some in the Regent’s employ, prefers lighter armor. His cuirass is gently sloped, his pauldrons not peeking out much farther than his shoulders themselves. His gauntlets provide plenty of dexterity for his hands, and the toe of his sabatons are rounded. The metal is a sleek silver with a touch of gold in the light. He brings along his sword that has never failed him and his shield that has always aided him, the two best pieces of his armory, and the only two pieces that he’s certain could properly test a beast.

He ties a deep red cape over his back before he sets off. The cape bears various icons: the crest of the family Wyndon, the original bloodline of the crown and even the symbol of Postwick, which he has left so far behind. The blacksmith’s and the armorer’s crests, as a thanks for their supplying him. The Regent’s emblem, the largest and loudest of them all.

Leon does not wear a helmet. He wants to be seen, if for some reason his famous cape does not make him obvious enough. The knowledge that the peoples’ most favored knight is headed to the mountain will quell fears and inspire strength. When he rides out of the castle, his long, thick mane of hair spills over the red cape. He must make quite the sight; as his horse trots out towards wilderness, passersby cheer and clap.

Once, the Regent asked him his feelings on being such a symbol for people. _Undefeated knight_ , they call him. _Our champion Leon_. He has never lost an exhibition match between knights, no skirmish, and no scuffle.

Leon remembers smiling at the Regent and telling him that it was a gift to be so relied upon. He still feels that way, motivated to do the right thing, burning for it.

In Wyndon, most of the townspeople are out and about during the day, currently preparing for the upcoming ball later in the week. It is a city-wide party, a celebration of the past that has been and the future to come. Many people travel to Wyndon to experience it, to take part. With so much ongoing to set everything up, it’s no wonder that so many people are on the roads, clogging the paths. Yet they all part for him, politely and joyfully.

The city isn’t what Leon is worried about, no. He’s well aware of his own failings when it comes to directions. He’s lucky that the mountain is so obvious on the horizon, looming high above – but in the span between the forest entrance and the peak, there is only dense woodland, unmapped wilds. There’s a single marked path into the forest that everyone insists is the closest thing to a trail leading to a straight shot towards the mountain. Finding that marked path is the problem.

But Leon has long since learned that the trick to his own trouble is asking, and asking quite a lot. He questions each passing traveler as to the direction he’s heading, and asks if he’s on the right route to get to the path to the forest. Once those he asks recover from their starstruck expressions, they are eager to help, sometimes overwhelmingly so. One merchant tries to pass many of his wares onto Leon in enthusiastic assistance.

“Oh, no,” Leon says, apologetic. “I can’t take any of this with me.” The merchant appears so crestfallen that he can in no way aid him that Leon quickly adds, “But stay on your path. You’re headed to Wyndon Castle, yes?”

“Of course,” the merchant replies, perking upright. “Every spring, I visit. It’s good for business, you see.”

“Well, when you arrive, be sure to insist that you come with my support.” Leon nods towards the carriage behind the merchant, which he was told moments ago bears all kinds of tools and spices, cloths and dyes. “I can vouch for you upon my return.” 

The merchant nearly falls off of his cart attempting to thank him. And Leon sets off once more — though now he has candied pecans to snack on. Of all the offerings from the merchant, this was the most delightful one he found himself able to accept.

Leon’s horse is a strong, able-bodied mount, one that has never had any trouble with Leon on the back, despite his armored garb being as heavy as it is. The horse’s coat gleams near orange in the dying light of the sun. Char is a good steed, and he’s served him well for the time he’s had him.

But Char can’t take him into the forest. Leon knows this, as well as any other knight who has heard of the scouts’ reports on return from the trees. The forest is too thick, the area so tightly packed with foliage that a horse would only make more trouble. Leon knows some of the knights who have perished on their quests must have considered that ridiculous. They take horses into hunts all the time; what makes this forest so different than those woods? 

Familiarity, Leon knows, wins many battles. It must be the same for scenery.

Leon doesn’t reach the edge of the forest until long past dark, Char coming to a slow halt at the signage. There isn’t enough light to read it, but this must be the place, for the sign is large and planted firmly in the ground. Past the muddled sign, the trees themselves look so black that the night sky itself should be jealous of it.

Next to the sign, there are lamps and oil, likely left by kind folk who know how often challengers wishing to travel this path stop here for a moment’s respite. Leon dismounts, then takes a lamp and lights it, packing a couple extra flasks of oil. The sign brightens in front of him:

DO NOT ENTER  
DRAGON AHEAD

There’s even an attempted rendition of the dragon — squiggles of a spiny back and fearsome claws, sharp teeth jutting out of its long snout’s open maw, and a tail that the aspiring artist ran out of space for and is cut off by the edge of the sign.

“Excellent,” Leon says, relieved. Char flicks his tail. “Then we’re in the right place.” 

He’s not intimidated. He has his sword that has won him every fight he’s ever been in strapped to his hip and a shield that has never failed him on his back.

Leon steels himself. Hop wouldn’t have written to him unless he really, truly needed him. This is a challenge he _must_ take on, with or without the prize of the throne, with or without the Regent’s approval.

And there’s one piece of the puzzle that Leon didn’t share with the Regent. He takes Hop’s letter out again.

_Wooloo went missing, and I tried to find her, even ran into the weald with my friend and almost got lost (but not all of us are as bad at directions as you, haha). But we didn’t find her, and it wasn’t until we came out that some people told us that they saw the dragon flying off with something white, fluffy, and sheep-sized in its big jaws. She was still baa-ing away, according to them!_

_I know you can beat it. That dragon’s no match for you, NOBODY IS!_

_But it wasn’t like it ate her right then and there like a real beast would, you know? I think you can still save her, if this letter gets to you in time. And it should!! I told the courier it was a matter of utmost importance, and it had to get to you, quick as he could take it._

_Lee, if you gotta kill the dragon, I know you could. But maybe you won’t have to?_

“Wouldn’t that be nice, Char?” Leon muses, tucking the letter away. He pats Char again, then points in the direction they came. “But here’s where we part. I can’t take you with me.” 

Char snuffs at him, dark eyes wide, the lamplight flickering in their depths.

“I mean it.” 

Leon crosses his arms over his chest. Flared nostrils and a scoff is the unhappy reply, Char casting his head this way and that, from Leon and to the road. Leon runs his hand down Char’s neck, hushing him.

“I’ll be fine,” Leon insists, then pulls another letter out. This one is neatly folded, having never been opened after its contents were penned. Leon extends the paper to Char, then shows the name written on the outside of it: _Hop._ “I need you to go to Postwick. You know the way, right?”

It’s been a long time since Leon’s visited, but Char’s never steered him wrong going that way, as if he could sense Leon’s longing for his family every visit he ever made. But this trip would be one Char would have to go alone. 

Leon slides this letter into the pack at Char’s saddle. “Go on, then. I’ll catch up.” 

Char butts his snout into Leon’s shoulder, hard enough that Leon stumbles, and then shakes off whatever trepidation he might have. Char trots around in a half-circle, looking back one last time. Leon gives a solid, confident nudge to Char’s side, and the horse starts off. Postwick is closer than the castle at this point; it won’t be a long journey for such a capable steed. Likely, he’ll reach the town just as morning breaks, and he can rest while Leon journeys onward.

Leon turns to face the forest as Char disappears from sight. 

“Alright, Leon,” he mutters to himself, slapping either of his cheeks lightly. “Let’s make it a champion time.”

He begins his trek into the trees. A cold breeze ripples through the leaves and branches like the forest itself is laughing at his entrance. _Good luck, good luck_ , the wind whispers. _Take care, take care,_ the leaves murmur. And far, far above, the mountain waits in silence.

The forest is peaceful at this time, silent aside from the croak of frogs and the rustle of trees, the wet shift of soil under his boots, the occasional flutter of wings, night-creatures startled and birds woken by the man walking beneath their perches. 

Altogether it is wholly _boring_. Leon doesn’t mind boring, but it’s natural on any trip to think of the places one’s been to pass the time. So he considers where he’s gone — he thinks of Motostoke and its strange machinery, he thinks of Hulbury’s fisheries. He thinks of Hammerlocke and all the valuable memories it guards.

Most of all, Leon thinks of his home.

Postwick is a smaller town, far south of Wyndon Castle, and much closer to the dragon’s mountain than the Castle itself. Mainly populated by shepherds and farmers, few who come from Postwick end up employed somewhere as far north as Wyndon. Fewer still become knights, of the crown or the guard or anything in between. Leon has always been a skilled fighter, better with a sword than with sheep, no green thumb to speak of, and so his quest out to Wyndon as a youth was not much of a loss for his family. 

He was not alone at the time, either — Sonia, aiming for knighthood, landed somewhere scholarly in nature, alongside her grandmother. Leon hasn’t truly spoken to Sonia in years. He misses her, the same way he misses Postwick…but he’s made as much time for her as he has his hometown, hasn’t he? 

(That is…not very much time at all. That twinge of guilt is easy to forget about when one is busy with as many responsibilities as Leon is.) 

After impressing Galar’s people the whole way to Wyndon, dueling anyone who would care to accept, Leon had made a name for himself. He had taken a position in the royal guard almost immediately, and after he’d soundly won against all the other knights positioned in Wyndon, Rose had titled him Knight Champion of Galar.

The rest is already history.

Leon considers all this as he wanders through the thick forest. Fallen trees block the half-path in some places — half-path, because it can barely be called that. Overgrowth has spread across most of the tamped-down earth. Old leaves, long since shed by the trees last autumn, don’t so much as crunch beneath Leon’s boots. 

The lamp casts an amber tint on everything. He is a lone spotlight in a deep, dark realm, forgotten by the rest of the world. It feels like a lost place.

Shaking the crawl of a shiver off his skin, Leon thinks about Postwick again. 

The weald Hop mentioned in his letter, the Slumbering Weald…this forest is not it. From maps that Leon’s scoured, the trees spread down to meet it, but this is a wholly different area. Still, this walk through the trees brings memories to mind. Leon remembers daring Sonia to run deeper into the weald with him, to see if she would. She never did.

With how similar every tree looks, and how much twisting and turning Leon’s route seems to be taking, he decides she’d been smart not to take his dare. Forests are labyrinths made of leaves and wood, emerald green warrens waiting to swallow up anyone unlucky enough to find themselves lost within the mazes lined with moss and birdsong.

“I’m not lost,” Leon mutters, pressing onward. He ducks beneath a branch that looks awfully similar to the last branch he’d had to avoid, then pauses.

_Is he…?_

“No,” he says instantly, then keeps walking. “I’m not—” 

This time, it isn’t uncertainty that stops him, but the rumble towards the sky, a low and uneven growl that shakes the ground beneath his feet. Gooseflesh rises along his nape, muscles going taut with readiness. Leon raises the lamp higher, free hand going to the hilt of his sword.

A flash of light, casting the forest in strange, stiff shadows. And with it, another rumble. The wind picks up again, stirring Leon’s hair around his face, his eyes wide as he casts his gaze around the dark forest. It sounds like a constant, insistent breeze, now, not the occasional bluster.

A droplet of water lands on the bridge of Leon’s nose, then streaks down to drip from the tip of it. He relaxes as more droplets follow, rain beginning to fall around him.

“A storm,” he breathes. His heart slows once more now that he knows it isn’t the dragon with a preemptive strike, but only rain, pouring heavier and heavier down on him.

And then he tenses all over again, the lightning’s flash illuminating his surroundings long enough for him to start running, breaking through the trees, branches snapping off.

For all the inconsistent tales that surviving challengers bring back, there is one singular constant: all of the stories say the weather here is unpredictable and harsh. A rainstorm is as likely as a snowstorm, and both threaten a lone traveler who doesn’t know north from south. Shelter is hard to come by, unless one is small enough to crawl into a tree trunk and hope for the best. Leon is most _definitely_ not small enough.

He tries to catch sight of the mountain through the trees. Just in time for a streak of lightning to brighten the world: _there_ , the peak, a barely visible statue against the full, rain-smeared clouds.

The raindrops that fly past the canopy hit his face like stinging sleet. The lamp goes out in the chaos; the oil’s in his pack, strung across his back. He has to rely on the sporadic lightning, the night like a blanket around his senses. He catches himself before slamming into a wide tree, stumbling past it instead, heart throbbing too quick in his chest as he speeds up once more.

The next rumble of thunder doesn’t come from above him; it comes from his left, and sounds so much closer than the sky that Leon trips, attention slipping from him. He comes down hard on his hands and knees — thankful for his gloves, for his armor — then casts a glare back at the thick root sticking out of the ground behind him.

He allows his head to hang, his thick hair dripping wet. Now that he’s still, catching his breath, he notices how cold it is. Not just any cold, either, it’s cold like winter. His lips feel the chill. The rain pounds the forest relentlessly around him.

The sky crackles and rumbles again. But he notices the same thing with this roll of thunder: it’s still on his left, and it really is coming closer.

Leon shuts his eyes and takes a slow, deep breath, reasoning it out: _because it’s not thunder_.

It’s a roar. 

He pushes himself up again. He shakes his head against the rain, collects the lamp from the forest floor, and heads doggedly in the direction of the roar.

“Dragon!” he shouts over the downpour, over the rapid flutter of leaves burdened with water. He raises his voice even higher, throws his head up to the sky — “I’m challenging you! _I, Leon, Knight Champion of Galar!_ ”

Lightning — and another, answering growl, not from the heavens, but from… 

_There._

The lightning shows him a break in the trees. Leon gets his hand on his sword, grips it tight, speeds up, running, boots sinking into the leaf litter, into the mud, between the trees, into the open —

Open air.

He lands first on his side with a sickening crunch, tumbling down the sharp angle of the hill, cliff, crest; whatever it is, gravity is merciless and happy to aid the land in dragging Leon down as fast and as far and as _hard_ as it possibly can.

Armor is good for many things. It’s good for fending off sword strikes. It’s good for staying recognizable in a crowd. It’s good for a distraction, when one feels restless in the birdcage of their own making, and they clean the shining metal to a pristine state.

It is not very good at absorbing long falls, and it is especially not very good at helping one catch their breath, ripped from their lungs like the impact had reached in and stolen all the air right out.

Leon gasps. His heartbeat thuds like a drum in his ringing ears. Even the unrepentant slap-sting of rain against his face feels distant. His vision swims, fading black at the edges like the curling corner of a burning photo, held over a candle’s flame. There’s one moment where the rain no longer falls onto his cheeks and the sound of the storm sounds faraway. Something over him, blocking the cold deluge.

The last thing he sees is an unfamiliar silhouette stalking near and a pair of bright, piercing eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will update on Mondays. I've got pretty much the entire thing written at this point, so there shouldn't be any delays. :)


	2. Chapter 2

The world is black, and then it is half-black, some semblance of awareness peeking through Leon's weary thoughts. 

Sounds come first. Birdsong, but quiet, not nearby. The whistle of wind. 

His head hurts terribly. His eyelids slowly brighten from darkness into something lighter. The sun? 

Slowly taking inventory of himself, he notes that he’s not wet anymore. His body also doesn’t feel weighed down. So his armor is gone. It was good that he was apparently able to make himself go through the motions of winding down, even if he feels in every conceivable way unable to go through _any_ motions at the moment.

He thinks he’s even managed to lay out some sort of sleeping mat for himself. Even better.

Leon shifts, stretches out, winces. He cracks open his eyes, finally, and squints against the blinding light.

“Oh, you’re awake!” says a voice. “Thought you were dying. That would’ve sucked.” 

Leon jolts upright, which only serves to make him feel nauseated, dizzy, and breathless all at once. He must blanch something atrocious, because the voice adds, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”

“ _What_ ,” Leon tries to say, except it comes out like a grunt and a groan, and then he’s pulling his legs up to rest his head against his knees. Underneath him, he finally sees a shock of red.

This is no sleeping mat, this is his cape lain atop layers of…something else. Thin blankets, nothing more.

“Yeah,” the voice says, “do that.” 

From his forehead’s refuge between his knees, Leon asks a muffled, “Where am I?” 

“Up on the mountain. That’s where you wanted to be, right?”

“I did, yes.” Leon takes a deep breath. Pain shoots through his side at the action. “…But I was hoping to be in a better condition.” 

A snort. Then, dryly: “Whatever for, Sir?”

“If it’s the mountain I want to be on, there’s a dragon about.” Leon lifts his head suddenly, his concern beating out his aches and pains. “Wait — are we safe? Have you seen the dragon? I apologize, I haven’t even asked after you.” 

Leon’s speaking to the only other person in the room, if it can even be called a room. They seem to be in a small cave, lit ethereal by the morning sun beaming in through what appear to be purposefully placed skylights. Leon’s cape (and Leon himself, dressed in only his underclothes) are directly beneath a patch of sun. The dirt floor is packed down tightly. The cave twists into what looks like another section about twenty steps away. 

And across from Leon in a pool of shadows, the man sitting with his back to the wall appears very casual for someone living in close proximity to a dragon. His head rests against the cave wall, chin tipped a little higher, giving him an appraising, alluring air. He has on a thick, layered top that cups his neck like a wide hood, drawing the eye to his jawline. His posture is effortlessly lax; his legs are drawn up like Leon’s, but haphazardly, not because of any warding off of nausea. His arms are draped over his knees just as languidly.

His expression is the only thing that gives away even the slightest amount of surprise, his vibrant blue-green eyes too wide to be completely at ease.

“We’re safe,” the man says, the reply sounding the slightest bit off.

Leon chalks it up to uncertainty. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” he says, bearing the brunt of his discomfort to get to his feet. He doesn’t stumble, but he has to keep the whole of his weight off his left side. His body remembers the first impact of his tumble even if in his head, it’s all a blur. “I’m Leon —”

“— The Knight Champion of Galar,” finishes the man. Now his eyes have fallen half-lidded, his lips curled like it’s funny. “I know.” 

Of course. His reputation precedes him. 

“You yelled it to the clouds.” 

Oh.

“The dragon was listening,” Leon says sanguinely. 

“Yes, you’re right about that.” 

Any moment now, the man looks as if he might burst into frantic, delighted laughter. His eyes shine with it, consistently more expressive than the rest of him. His fingers curl and uncurl from fists, his weight shifting every now and then like he might want to join Leon on his feet.

“Where’s my sword?” Leon asks suddenly, turning around and around in the small room. This situation’s unsettling. He wants something straightforward, and not much is more straightforward than a sword. “And my shield?” 

“They’re safe, too.” 

Leon glances back at the man, balking. “Safe? We need them for when the dragon…” 

The man shakes his head minutely, and Leon trails right off. 

“Come, now,” he says. “Did you hit your head that hard that you really can’t tell?”

Leon feels as if he’s being made fun of, like this is some private joke he isn’t in on. He dislikes it immensely. Stiffly, he says, “Enlighten me.”

The man stares at him, unblinking, for a long moment. His pupils seem to shift, the black slit acutely apparent in the vivid, glowing iris. Leon watches him silently, his own muscles tense. No matter what this stranger has done to help him, he’s also stolen his belongings. He can’t be trusted. 

Then the man shrugs and says, “Alright.” 

He moves from his lazy sit, practically unfurling his limbs to take an even _lazier_ standing posture. Leon is forced to realize how much taller he is. He’s very tall. He is _extremely_ tall. He seems proud of this fact, an amused quirk to his mouth as Leon frantically looks him over.

Pointedly, the man takes one single step closer, enough to put him into another patch of light breaking into the little room. He leans in. Leon refuses to give up even a little space to him, standing straight and unmoving. The morning sun casts the man’s angles in beautiful, crisp warmth, painting his features ethereally sharp.

It especially highlights the incisors that taper into fangs when he grins. 

Leon’s protest is snatched right out of his mouth, replaced with dumbfounded silence. 

Now that he’s not all crumpled (because there’s no other word for it, not when his limbs are so long and his body so lithe) in the shadow, Leon can see all his little details. What he first assumed were freckles actually appear to be blue-black flecks of scales, gathered close to his eyes like individual smears of kohl that lead back towards his hairline, which is masked by a loose headband, open at the top for his tied-back hair to escape like individual, extended spines. The scales continue, a scarce few lining his jaw, but most trailing down his neck, drawing the eye along his throat… 

Leon snaps his gaze back to the man’s eyes. His pupils shift again: dilating.

“The people saw a dragon flying away,” Leon whispers.

“They’re not wrong. I do that sometimes.” 

Movement behind the man — Leon stiffens in readiness and glances lower. There’s a tail hanging low, almost brushing the floor, patterned with those same obsidian-like, deeper-than-black scales. As if sensing the attention, motion ripples down the tail, the pointed end of it flicking left and right.

 _But there’s no wings_ , Leon notices critically.

“Are you sure?” he says, flat.

The man tilts his head again. It must be a thoughtful habit. “Sometimes.” 

The way the dragon, the _man-dragon_ , looks at him, Leon feels like he must be going mad. There’s no threat in his stance, no immediate sign of danger despite the inches he has on Leon in height, and yet Leon is certain he’s being sized up. Or laughed at. Or both at once, which is perhaps the worst option of them all.

“I’ve never seen a dragon before!” Leon bursts out now, defensive. His raised voice causes his temples to ache all the more. “How was I meant to know dragons were _people?_ ” 

The man-dragon narrows his eyes at him. Leon flushes hotly at how horrific he’s made himself sound. 

“I’m sorry, that isn’t what I meant.” Scrambling now for composure, Leon squares his shoulders. “I feel like we’ve started this on the wrong foot.” 

“I think it started wrong when you tried to kill me,” the man-dragon states very matter-of-factly. 

“I never tried to kill you—” 

“But you wanted to. Why bring the sword along otherwise? Why shout about challenging me if you didn’t mean it?” 

“I wasn’t going to kill you unless it was out of self-defense, I have proof…” No, he doesn’t. His letter assuring his brother that he truly wouldn’t kill the dragon unless it came down to it is with Char, miles away in Postwick. 

Only one thing for it. Leon abruptly throws his hand into the space between them. The man flinches back, eyes blown wide and arms raised up in front of him as if Leon’s offering an insect out to him, and not a handshake. 

“My name is Leon, and I’m Knight Champion of Galar,” Leon says, measured and confident. “I believe you have my brother’s sheep…probably. If you haven't eaten her already. I’m hoping you haven’t.”

He knows exactly what he looks like: someone who’s been run through a wringer and then some, and not at all like any knight, or any champion. But he still has his hand out to this dragon, in the hopes that they can start over to get somewhere that isn’t squabbling. The man stares between Leon’s hand and Leon’s face, back and forth and back again.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Leon prompts, because it’s beginning to get awkward. Then he repeats: “...As long as you haven’t eaten my brother’s sheep.” 

The man slowly reaches out to take his hand, but doesn’t really shake it. He holds it instead. Leon takes the opportunity to examine his hand, since he might not get a second chance. His palm is dry and cool, with dark scales dense around his fingertips and the claws curving down from them. Those same scales fade into soft skin higher up, towards the knuckles.

It’s Leon who does the shaking of the hands, and it’s Leon who tugs himself free afterwards, declaring the moment over with a fierce little nod.

“Raihan,” says the man eventually, giving his hand a cursory glance as if it’s now some foreign creature attached to his body. 

With the most amazing timing known to mankind, there’s a reedy _baa!_ from the twisting tunnel, the cry bouncing around the walls. Indeed, a sheep comes trotting out, looking for all the world calmly expectant; then, spotting Leon, the little animal bounds over as if thrilled. As she throws herself towards him, Leon catches sight of a thin twine bracelet around one front leg, colorful with the attached beads. A memory flares bright in his mind: a younger Hop winding this bracelet around his favorite sheep’s leg, declaring their friendship official.

“Wooloo!” Leon kneels to catch her, the force almost throwing him backwards. His body protests, side twinging painfully, but he grins past it. Wooloo butts at his shoulder, letting out a happy series of noises. “Haha, _ow_ , don’t do that, please — Hop’s worried sick about you. There’s nothing interesting enough in the weald to merit running off!” 

Petting Wooloo to quiet her enthusiasm, Leon feels a pinning stare leveled his way. He’s just in time to see Raihan averting his gaze. 

“I don’t eat cattle,” Raihan says. “Or pets.”

Leon gets the distinct feeling that he’s _unhappy_ with the assumption that he’d eaten her, despite the fact that hungry creatures eat, and a dragon must be a hungry creature at least some of the time. In fact, a sheep this cared for would make for an exemplary meal, yet here she is, unharmed and in one piece. 

“…Well,” Leon starts, wondering how to broach the difficult ‘ _but you’re comfortable eating humans?_ ’ question. He sidesteps it for now. “Now that you know I’m not going to kill you, since you’ve been kind enough not to devour Wooloo here, can I please have my things back?” 

“Hm…” Raihan rubs the back of his neck, looking even taller now that he’s straightened up some. “So long as you’re not about to stab me in the back.” 

“That’s not a very champion thing to do.”

“No, I guess it isn’t.” 

Raihan gestures for him to follow, and so Leon falls into step behind him. Behind Leon comes Wooloo, traipsing along at her own pace. They go the way that Wooloo came from, and Leon finds that his assumption was right: it is a tunnel leading elsewhere, twisting around on itself on a slight incline, putting them higher than the last cave they were in, but still within the mountain itself. 

The narrow tunnel opens up into another cavern, much larger than the last. The light bleeding in through the ceiling is green-tinged, and Leon glances up, spotting more skylights like the previous ones. These, however, have been covered with leaves, laced together and fastened beneath the skylights, as if to protect the inside of the cave from the elements. On the wall, a few unlit torches rest in their mounts.

Where the other cave had been unfurnished and less than half the size of this, the space they’re in now can truly be called a _room_. There is a large rug woven together with earthy tones covering the dirt floor. A thick-legged wooden table with a cloth draped over the top of it sits comfortably in the corner, books stacked in an attempt at neatness all over it. Most of Leon’s armor is also on the table, waiting for him; the boots on the floor, gauntlets in the chair next to the table. One book is half-open, waiting to be returned to when the reader finishes whatever has interrupted them. There’s shelves, too, also bearing their share of books — thick, encyclopedic tomes and more bite-sized volumes. 

Aside from the torches on the walls, there are paintings. Most are landscapes Leon recognizes as beaches, mountain ranges, fields and forests. But it’s the portraits Leon notices immediately.

“That’s the royal family!” Leon exclaims suddenly. Raihan casts a quick glance back, but Leon’s already long past him, making a break for a particular painting so he can examine it closer. “This is the portrait missing from collection in Hammerlocke…they said it had been stolen by brigands during transport from the castle, after the king’s death.” 

As if Leon’s slow-growing and subtle accusation is beginning to itch at him, Raihan says, “They were highway robbers. They didn’t know what they were doing with it, they only knew they couldn’t sell it. So I asked to take it off their hands.”

“You _asked_ ,” Leon says, dumbfounded. “How…” _What?_ “...polite of you.” 

Raihan’s started his half-quirk of a smile again. “History is _very_ important. You should know that as Champion Knight. I bet your name has already been penned a hundred times by scholars.” 

Leon decides he doesn’t like feeling scolded. “Probably,” he allows. “I know there’s a running record of my duels…everyone’s waiting for me to lose.” 

That throws Raihan off. Leon can see it in the way his tail stills and his whole body must adjust to the words. He seems to try to disguise it then, a moment too late, by wandering the perimeter of the room. Like a pacing predator…or a restless dragon.

“Leon, Champion Knight of Galar, undefeated,” Raihan mutters aloud. Then, regaining his laid-back attitude, he adds a little louder, “And the Great Dragon Raihan. Sheep-stealer.” 

_People-eater._ “Or oversized, scale-covered magpie.” Leon says it with profound amusement, turning his attention to Raihan’s collecting habits, but he’s already moving on to look at the open book on the table. It’s on the subject of weather patterns, meteorological phenomena, an almanac tracing back Galar’s spring climates through the years.

“Something of the like.”

Raihan’s voice is much closer than Leon expected, and he whirls around quickly, heart pounding in his chest. Why had he felt as if he could turn his back on a dragon in the first place? Raihan’s precariously near; he must have been peering over Leon’s shoulder at the book, too. Now he’s so close that the short hairs at the nape of Leon’s neck prickle nervously.

Wooloo says, “ _Baa_.” Leon definitely doesn’t jump at it.

“The rest of my things?” he reminds Raihan.

“The rest…”

For the first time, Leon thinks that he looks _sleepy_ , the way his eyes rest half-lidded as if unalert. Raihan turns his head one way to look at the shelves, then looks the other way — on the wall in the direction that they entered the room, there’s a bundle of cushions on the floor, some thick blankets settled under them, curved towards the floor as if well-used. It’s a bed, and one that looks quite comfortable. 

If _that_ is a bed, then _this_ cave is a den, and that makes the art and books… 

“This is your hoard?” Leon asks, all nerves dispelled from him thanks to his potent surprise.

Raihan, now crouched at the bed, glances over his shoulder. His tail swishes against the dirt floor. “If you’re asking what my most treasured items are, then they’d be all that. Yeah.” 

Not gold? Not the picked clean bones of all the conquered people who’ve tried to climb this mountain? Not even a princess or two? 

Leon admits, “I’m beginning to think I don’t know much of anything about dragons or things dragon-adjacent.”

Grinning with all his teeth, _especially_ the sharp ones, Raihan looks back at him once more. “I could have told you that.” 

From beneath all the blankets, Raihan draws out a long package of tightly-wound cloth, vaguely sword-shaped. He gives it a cursory glance, then tugs out the shield, also protected by a taut cloth keeping away the dirt. 

“My rucksack?” Leon prompts again. 

Raihan points at one of the torch mounts, closest to another winding tunnel entrance. This mount is empty, and on it hangs Leon’s rucksack. Leon trots over and undoes the leather clasp keeping it shut, finding everything still inside — the rest of his candied pecans, his rations, his gold, his lamp oil. Everything. 

Raihan’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking very gangly and unbothered. His eyes gleam in this light, shining with the torchlight on all edges of him, glowing with the sunlight pooling green and cool through the skylights. Leon’s sword and shield are half-unwrapped in front of him, waiting to be taken. Behind him, on the table, Leon’s armor waits, reflecting the torches, the warmth of the room. 

“That’s everything, then,” Leon says, the words somehow far away.

Wooloo stares at him, just as Raihan stares at him. It wouldn’t be such a strange picture, if there wasn’t a damn tail flat on the floor behind Raihan.

Raihan the _dragon_. Raihan the _dragon_ who hasn’t touched any of his things except to keep them safe in the room with all of his other treasures, which Leon had always been led to believe a dragon would protect with its life.

It’s a completely foreign feeling, whatever it is that takes root in his chest. Is this what being outplayed in a duel feels like? He hasn’t ever been so unbalanced. His entire life suddenly seems to be sideways with this knowledge that a dragon who is also a man has saved him from perishing, never to be found, at the bottom of a long fall in a deep, dark forest.

Leon’s vision fuzzes, then tips diagonal. Maybe the world really is sideways, but —

No. No, it was only the injuries catching up with him, once-scorned gravity pulling him towards the ground as if to make up for his absence on it up until this point. That’s where Leon would be — on the ground — if not for Raihan’s quick surge upright to catch him. Leon’s face presses against Raihan’s shoulder, his nose smushed somewhere almost-but-not-quite on his chest. His clothes really are thick, as if without scales Raihan prefers being shrouded by something softer. He smells like spice and sand and sun. It’s nearly enough to distract Leon from the fact that his whole body really does hurt, and it is all angry with him for not taking note earlier.

“You are,” Leon mumbles out, “ _very_ strong.” 

Raihan’s hand settles lightly onto the width of Leon’s upper back, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to until now.

“I don’t think you’re making it down the mountain today,” Raihan says. His voice is soft, breath stirring the flyaway strands of hair next to Leon’s ear. “The undefeated champion isn’t defeated. He needs some rest and some food though, I think. How’s that?” 

Leon’s spine is tingling with awareness with Raihan’s hand on it like that, so who knows what he needs. “Under one condition.” 

“Sure, sure.” Raihan turns his head closer into Leon’s hair. Leon thinks he feels him sniff it once. That’s strange, but he can let it slide since Raihan’s the only thing holding him up off the hard, unforgiving ground. 

Leon takes a deep breath. His ribs scream _stopstopstop_ ; Leon stops, and then he coughs. Sucking in a breath that pangs sharp, he finally declares, “I don’t want to eat people.”

“You—” He doesn’t have to look at Raihan’s face to know he must be doing something horrific with his expression. His whole body’s gone tense as a bowstring, that hand on Leon’s back digging fingers (nails? no, _claws_ ) into him. “…That’s… _what the fuck?_ I don’t eat _people_. That’s disgusting.” 

The response is laced with barely leashed fury, disdain, and an edge of insult. Raihan is, no doubt, truthful. That tense, heavy worry slides right off of Leon’s shoulders. He sighs, relieved, and slumps ever more into Raihan’s hold, which has somehow not failed him yet.

“Excellent! Great. That’s absolutely great. No people-eating. No sheep-eating. Wonderful.”

After some uncertain pause, Raihan pats his back a few times.

“You know,” Leon goes on bravely, “you’re really a very terrible dragon. I haven’t even seen you be a dragon yet.” 

“I can drop you,” Raihan offers. “Right here.” 

“You can drop me back onto my cape, actually, that’d be nice.” 

Raihan instead carefully lays Leon onto _his_ bed, and Leon stays there, staring up at the ceiling while he considers this odd shift in his worldview. Wooloo sticks her head on top of the bed with Leon, not really so difficult when the bed’s so low to the floor. Leon pets her absently until something red and heavy is thrown over him and oh, his cape!

“Thank you,” he says, pulling it down so it’s more like a blanket. Now that he’s horizontal and not concerned for his life, Leon is anxious to sleep.

Raihan watches him for a moment, looking away right as Leon shuts his eyes. One by one, the torches in the room go out, the black behind his eyelids turning blacker with each one doused.

As he’s falling asleep, Leon remembers that he did, in fact, see Raihan as a dragon. Right before he’d passed out in the forest.

It’s not the worst memory to doze off on.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the support! <3 This was just a fun little thing I did for myself and my friends, so I'm glad it's finding an audience, niche as it may be.

“You never did tell me,” Leon says around a mouthful of food, “why _did_ you take Wooloo?”

Sitting on the rug across from Leon, Raihan glances up. There’s a hefty meal between them: berries, grilled fish, dried meats, bread. They’ve each contributed to it, and it makes the dinner all the more tasty, knowing it was a joint effort. Torchlight is all they have now, the moon not yet high enough in the sky to provide its light through Raihan’s leafy curtains.

The sheep in question is relaxing on Raihan’s bed, curled up contently on Leon’s cape as if it’s a blanket for her. She seems to be asleep, except for the fact that when Leon said _Wooloo_ her ear flicked.

Finishing his bite of fish, Raihan shrugs. “She was lost. Even if I wasn’t about to eat her, something else in that forest would’ve. The place is a death trap!” 

Leon can agree to that. The weald is an odd place.

“I couldn’t leave her,” Raihan finishes, piercing a claw into a chunk of bread to bring it, impaled, up to his mouth.

“And you didn’t bring her back to Postwick afterward, because…” Leon thinks about it as the salt from his last piece of dried meat fades from his tongue. “…Were you frightened of people?” 

“Huh?” Raihan seems to bristle a little. “No. I didn’t know who she belonged to. Someone could’ve claimed to own her but been lying, and I wouldn’t have known any better.” 

“Thank you for looking after her.” 

“And…” Raihan glances away, grimaces, sighs with his whole body. “She was good company.” 

He doesn’t seem resigned to the fact of it, but he _does_ seem like he’s a bit embarrassed to have to admit it at all. Leon stares at him, a warm tangle of _something_ coiling between each of his ribs and taking residence in his chest. Up on the tallest mountain, all alone…it must get lonely, if Wooloo’s the best friend that Raihan has — nothing against Wooloo, of course. 

Raihan chews at a piece of dried meat and looks up once more, gazing at Leon. Waiting for judgment with a strip of beef hanging out of his mouth, lip half-curled to show off one of his fangs.

“I’m glad,” Leon says sincerely. “Hop will be glad to hear it too. Wooloo’s his favorite, you know.” 

Raihan sets about tearing the meat to shreds, tugging the strip as his teeth rip into it. He looks at Leon as he does it, almost breezy as he manages around the chunky bites: “Hop’s your brother?”

“Yeah.” Leon grins. “Younger brother. He’s something else.” 

“Tell me.” 

And so Leon does. He shares everything with Raihan like his memories are a thread and each sentence keeps on unspooling it. He tells him the full context of his trek up to this mountain, how even though Hop knew Wooloo had been taken by Raihan, he wanted Leon to find a better way to solve the problem than killing him. He talks about Hop keeping up with all of his duels, how Hop’s been his biggest fan only ever since _always_. He mentions any and every escapade they’d ever gotten into together, even the ones where he doesn’t sound half as cool as Hop thinks he is.

Raihan’s picking his claw between his teeth when Leon finally trails off. Then, casually, he drops his hand into his lap and says, “You miss him.” 

“Of course!” Leon blurts. “There’s no question. I miss him badly. I miss all of my family. It’s hard to make time to go visit.”

Raihan’s silent for a minute, reaching back to rub his neck idly. In that time, Leon polishes off the last of the fish.

Finally, Raihan muses, “Being champion…guess that’s your mountain to climb down.”

Leon pauses with a berry halfway to his mouth. “…What?” 

Raihan shakes his head, then raises one hand as high as he can over the dwindling food in front of them. “You have this big, tall pedestal called _champion_. I have this big, tall place called a _mountain…_ ” Raihan stops like his mind has somehow caught up with him. “Huh. This sounds a bit daft out loud.”

“No,” Leon says. “Keep going.” 

Raihan looks at him: _If you say so_ , his tired eyes say, and then he goes on. “Anyway.” He drops his hand, having made his point. “Everybody’s got something keeping them away…for the last of the Wyndon line, you know how he refused to be crowned king because he was more interested in sailing? So his mountain’s the whole ocean. He died a pirate.”

“I thought he died on bedrest after an illness.”

“He did.” Raihan raises his eyebrows at Leon, leaning forward. “Where do you think he caught it? Overseas.” 

Leon rolls that around in his mind. “Then…his mountain killed him.” 

“I never said mountains weren’t dangerous.” 

Leon’s mountain — his fame, his _champion_ title, his pedestal…it won’t kill him. It will drag him away until he can fight back against the weight of duty enough to see his loved ones again. Always a tomorrow away. Maybe, in that way, it isn’t so different from the pull of tides and currents. 

Leon pats his hands around him, searching. When he feels his rucksack behind him, he tugs it around to his side and opens it up.

“What’s this?” Raihan asks, barely straightening in time to catch the small baggy that Leon tosses his way.

“Dessert,” Leon replies, pleased already by the dubious expression Raihan sends him. “Trust me.” 

Raihan must trust him enough at least for this, because he unties the little ribbon keeping the bag shut and then, eyes never leaving Leon’s face, he sniffs the contents.

Two seconds later, he’s chomping on a gratuitous mouthful of candied pecans, starry-eyed and overwhelmed.

Leon does a very poor job at hiding his amusement, doubly so when Raihan just makes a low noise and falls back onto the floor. Leon shimmies across the floor to get a little closer, wanting to both peek at Raihan’s reactions and to steal some candied pecans for himself. It’s not every day that one gets to introduce something so sugary sweet to a dragon’s palate. He dips his hand into the baggy that’s sitting there on Raihan’s chest and pops some pecans into his own mouth.

Something rests on Leon’s knee then; he glances down and finds Raihan’s hand sitting there, lightly gripping his leg, then looks up again to see Raihan grinning loosely at him. Leon knows he could shake him off if he wanted to.

He doesn’t want to. There’s something genuine in whatever this is between them and he _craves_ it. That mountain keeping him away — it means nothing to Raihan. 

Leon likes that.

“Well?” he says, watching as Raihan lethargically takes another pecan out of the bag. 

“I think the merchants I usually meet have been holding out on me,” Raihan despairs.

Leon nods sagely. “Yes, but berries are better for you.” He’s playing devil’s advocate. And what reason would a dragon have to keep up proper nutrition anyway? Though Leon does suppose he _is_ a man, too…

They finish off the candied pecans together, then store the rest of the food they haven’t eaten. Wooloo snoozes throughout all of it, an entirely unhelpful but very adorable addition to their post-dinner cleanup. Leon finds that he can’t remember the last time he shared a meal with anyone who wasn’t Regent Rose or Advisor Oleana. 

It’s been a day…will they be worried for him? According to other challengers and all projected estimates, the journey up to the mountain’s peak alone usually takes much longer. He supposes he has Raihan to thank for that. He’s been handed quite the shortcut.

As for the other challengers, Leon has to assume they’ve perished in ways other than the oh-so-dangerous dragon. Raihan says he hasn’t eaten them and he’s been nothing but merciful with Leon, who he expected to try and kill him. So what, then? Either there’s another dragon, or the other challengers were not as lucky as him.

Luck. Does it really just boil down to _luck?_

As he hangs his rucksack on the wall mount again, Leon glances back to Raihan, who has long since flopped onto his bed next to Wooloo. His arms and legs are pulled daintily into him, spine curled inward in a delicate swoop that ends at his tail, tucked up towards his body. Wooloo’s leaning into his warmth in a familiar, content way, as if they’ve napped like this dozens of times. Leon’s cape is still bundled beneath them, drawn up beneath Raihan’s body — thick, red material clenched between his fingers.

When Leon looks again at Raihan’s lax face, he finds he’s being watched in return. His nape prickles, but it’s not nerves.

Raihan blinks at him once, very slowly.

“Are you the only dragon…like you?” Leon says. It feels like asking a woman her age; wrong and rude and a breach of sensitivity.

If Raihan sees it the same way, he doesn’t say so. “I don’t know.” A brutally honest answer for a viciously honest question. The scales on his tail ripple downward, motion causing his tail to flick at the very tip. “I’ve never met any.” 

“Any dragons at all?” 

Raihan shuts his eyes and flicks his tail again, this time more purposefully.

The silence bears his answer well enough. Leon thinks the word _lonely_ again, feels a familiar urge to _do something_ , and then he stops. That’s the trouble of it, isn’t it? He’s used to being able to _do_ things. Fix problems. Travel the kingdom righting wrongs and disposing of fears or worries. 

This is a plight he cannot solve. For the first time in a long time, Leon finds himself frustrated.

His body wants to be in motion, so he moves. In the other, smaller room, he throws his tunic over his undershirt and changes his trousers. He pulls his boots on, lacing them, and then heads out once more. Raihan’s stare bores into his back as he exits out of the other tunnel, or at least what he expects to be the exit. If Leon stands still for a moment, he can feel the movement of the air; he wants to follow it out.

The tunnel leads him higher than the last, another cavern greeting him. This one has only one lone, unlit torch in it and a box, full of cloth and leather, barely visible in the dim light. Leon takes the torch from this room and sets it alight using the last torch in the tunnel he came from, then presses onwards.

It’s another twist, another turn before he finally smells the night air. A tingle of knowing dances across his skin, glad to be sated in this way; Leon doesn’t remember Raihan bringing him here any more than he remembers exactly what Raihan looked like at the time. Obviously _inhuman_ , but when Leon closes his eyes and tries to recall, all his imagination comes up with is a smear of dark scales, impossibly blurry.

And those eyes. Those Leon can remember _very_ clearly. They don’t change at all between Raihan’s forms.

In the here and now, the night sky blankets over him, wide and cool and so very close. The stars are so striking that Leon is sure that if he reaches his hands up, if he raises his arms all the way that he possibly can… 

But no. He falls very short of the stars.

The sky is still light where the sun has set, like the sun’s bleeding color against gravity, but it’s the moon on the upswing right now. The night is young. The animals will be changing shifts. Are dragons diurnal, or nocturnal? Has Leon thrown off Raihan’s schedule?

“He is a man,” Leon says, very firmly. Reminding himself. 

Where he stands, his feet are firm on a thick, flat cliff. He can take several steps farther away from the tunnel entrance and still find solid ground, albeit less even solid ground. To his right, there’s a precariously thin trail that leads down, down, down. To his left, there’s still even higher to go — not by foot, Leon decides, examining the drop that greets him, but there’s a platform, if one could call it that, much higher than this. Just above the tunnel is an overhang, keeping the cave’s entrance in shadow.

And below, the world offers itself out before him like a finished canvas.

Now that he’s precisely aware of how high he is, he can feel the altitude in his ears, in his lungs. He takes a deep breath, inviting the ire of his still-healing ribs; the air is cold and thin. Not so thin that he should be worried, but thin enough that he understands now why it has at times bothered him to breathe. He’d blamed it on his injuries. He likes this explanation more.

The forest opens like a tapestry, the leaves like messy jabs of a green-tipped brush. He can’t tell where individual trees end and new ones begin. The moonlight casts it all in sharp shadow and white light anyway, sucking out the color and replacing it with contrast. 

Leon has never been one to deny the beauty of the world, but seeing it from up here is an all new experience.

He hears footsteps shift the dusty earth behind him. Without looking, Leon asks, breathless, “Why would you ever come down?” 

“You’re talking about the view?” Leon can feel Raihan’s stare on him, not on the world around them.

“It’s beautiful.” He keeps himself hushed; no need to completely ruin the stillness of the night. It feels like they’re the only two people to exist. 

Raihan hums once, taking up the spot next to Leon. He’s standing near enough that Leon’s shoulder brushes against him. He doesn’t say anything, but he sees this every time he steps outside. Maybe it’s lost its luster for him.

“I need things sometimes,” Raihan says finally. “We’ve established that I don’t eat people. So what do you think I have to do?” 

Leon sneaks a glance at Raihan’s profile, his moonlit, sharp angles belonging here as much as any mountain’s peak. “I assumed you hunted.” 

Raihan ducks his head away. “That’s flattery, Champion Leon. I’m not nearly that good of a hunter.” He sounds grateful, though.

“Not even as a dragon?” 

“No…” Raihan squints out at the forest. “Maybe if I went farther away. But that’d cause problems, wouldn’t it?” 

“More than there already are for you?” Leon clears his throat, narrowly avoiding a laugh.

“Yeah.” Raihan sighs. “I got sloppy.”

But his voice sounds like he got _more_ than sloppy, that he perhaps became frustrated, and tired, and angry. Or Leon could be looking too deeply into it. He’s only known Raihan for a day. He shouldn’t expect to read him like a book. 

That warm, strange thing tangled up in his ribcage whispers, _oh, but you want to_.

Leon steps back. He stares at Raihan. Raihan, bless him, stares back, but only once he realizes Leon’s not stopping his narrow-eyed scrutiny.

“What?” Raihan says, gaze flicking down to himself. 

“How did you get me up here, anyway?” 

Raihan’s posture relaxes again. He scratches at the scales near his temple. “I flew.” 

“Was I on your back?” Leon asks, delighting in that idea.

“…If it makes you feel better.” 

Leon opens his mouth. Shuts it. Admits, “It did sound majestic.”

Raihan’s not fighting his smile. He’s simply letting it take over his face, a slow-curling, gratified curve on his mouth. “Would you like to guess how I did it?” 

Then he bares his teeth and snaps them together once, the savage _click!_ of his jaws coming together more formidable than Leon’s could ever hope to be. Leon has the sudden and haunting mental image of himself as a purple-wooled sheep, being spirited away through the sky in the vehicle that is Raihan’s ruinous maw, each sharp fang designed for sundering simply cradling him instead.

And then Leon shakes his head and it is gone. “I expect dragging me bodily through your tunnels eventually came into play,” he says in lieu of ever speaking aloud what waking dreams his mind gifts him.

Raihan laughs, a harsh bark of amusement that then tumbles into something softer, breathier. That tangle in Leon’s ribs — it reacts with a tickling tug that tempts him to join in. Leon is being laughed at, and all he can be is glad to hear it.

“No!” Raihan manages, when he has pressed the back of his hand to his mouth to quell his laughter. He drops his hand, but it does nothing to dim his grin. “I _carried_ you.”

Leon has even less trouble imagining that than he did his sheep-self, but this one has the distinct difference of causing his skin to flush hot. “As you are now?” 

“As I am now.” Raihan jerks his chin towards the tunnel behind them. “I can’t fit in there if I’m…”

“Dragon-sized.”

“I was going to say _draconically inclined._ That works just as well.” 

It’s Leon’s turn to laugh, a surprised puff of breath that throws him, leaving him utterly speechless but smiling. Raihan smiles crookedly back, and… 

And, what? He looks amazing in this lighting? Leon can’t _say_ that when he’s looked amazing in every lighting he’s seen him in, even half-delirious as he was when he first woke up and Raihan was doused in shadow. Even then, he’d been staggeringly attractive. Even then.

Raihan’s leaning in. He’s closing the gap between them. 

All of Leon’s air is sucked out of him. It’s the altitude. It’s the _altitude_. 

He shuts his eyes as Raihan’s nose brushes his forehead. He feels the singular, smallest contact like a lightning strike, or like the impact of his body slamming into the forest floor. Yes, it’s that stunning. Leon expects that he’s going to go mad here on this mountain, faced with his unendurable attraction to a dragon-man with enchanting eyes and charming snark and ridiculous, haughty confidence. He should do something about it, man of action that he is.

A breath. It’s Raihan, inhaling against his hair again. He murmurs, “Do you want to bathe?”

Leon pulls back and demands, flustered, “Do dragons have better smell than humans or something? That’s twice now you’ve sniffed me like that.” 

“What? No.” Raihan seems to have to try very hard not to whirl around and away from Leon. “Or…maybe. I don’t know. I’ve never had any other way of smelling than this.” 

Then he’s too close again, stepping in and leaning down so Leon’s face is level with the wide collar of his clothing, Leon’s mouth the scarcest few centimeters away from Raihan’s bare neck.

“What do I smell like to you?” Raihan asks, his voice a low rumble this close. Leon could press his lips to his throat and _feel_ it if he spoke again.

Instead, he looks head-on at the skin that Raihan is offering to him. The scales go so far down, Leon thinks distractedly, taking note of every dark fleck scattered down Raihan’s neck, across his collarbone. But he’s asked Leon a question, and so Leon obliges; he leans closer, nose nearly fitted against the curve of Raihan’s neck, and then takes a breath.

He already knows what Raihan will smell like. It’s effortless for him to summon up the memory of Raihan keeping him upright. Just as before — the scents that settle into him are very, very nice ones: like a spice that warms and lulls, like sand that slips through one’s fingers, like the sun at its highest hour.

Leon leans away. Raihan follows suit.

“You smell good,” Leon admits. He gains nothing by lying.

“Do I, now.” Interest lights Raihan’s gaze. He cocks his head at Leon, then ruthlessly replies, “To me, you smell like sweat and mud. And you’ve got berry juice on your mouth.”

Leon licks his lips reflexively. Raihan’s eyes follow the movement. “Then I suppose I _should_ bathe.” 

Raihan takes a deeper breath. Then he jerks his head. “Come with me.” 

Leon has one final, fleeting thought as he follows after Raihan back into the mountain, his final vestige of restraint slipping away; not even the cold air was enough to clear his head.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s a maze. That’s the only option. 

This mountain that Raihan has made his home in is a _maze_. There’s no telling what it was before it became a dragon’s den, or if Raihan did it himself. There are caverns upon caverns, some with evidence of living and some as barren as a personal, domestic wasteland. 

There are also countless winding paths, up and down, through the mountain. Wherever they’re headed — _to bathe_ , is the only explanation Raihan has given him — is a hike down rocky tunnels with floors that have been shaped into stairs in certain, unsteady places. Leon’s aching body is doing its best, but he’s running on fumes. There’s an ache in his leg he’s just now noticed, his shoulder twinges funny every time he moves his arm, and his side does not want to cooperate, no matter how shallowly he breathes.

Another time, Leon would beg to run up and down these tunnels, discover where the beginning lies. Right now, he wants to sit and gasp for air without his bruised ribs swearing up a storm at him. But Leon is a champion, and he has felt much, much worse than this.

“I expected you to take me into your dangerous jaws and deposit me into a river,” Leon says, sticking to Raihan’s steps. “That, or you would have drawn some water into a basin. Whichever was less of a pain.” 

“Ha. No, no…this is better. Trust me.” 

“Ah, you’ve learned to bank on my trust now, have you?” 

“You started it.” Raihan glances behind him, the good-natured sway of his tail catching Leon gently in the side of his thigh. There is substantial weight to the appendage; Leon is not dismissive enough not to notice that Raihan could have easily thrown him off-guard with a stronger shove.

Leon doesn’t have a tail, but he can kick a small rock and ding Raihan in the ankle with it. So he does. Raihan’s tail smacks him harder this time. 

It’s deserved. Leon swallows his grunt of pain and pushes onward.

“Not much farther now.” 

Raihan’s voice cuts through the dark. As he sends another look back towards Leon, the vibrant, overbright gleam of eyes nearly matches the blue torchlight, and — _wait._

At some point during their walk, the torches have given way to luminescent mushrooms in a vivid array of colors, purple and green and, the majority, blue. The mushrooms have slithered their systems along the rocky tunnel walls like moss or algae, stems growing out and away from the walls as if leaving home. The caps glow like halos, but it’s the crawl of the roots attaching them to the rocks that truly brighten the space.

Leon stoops to admire a particularly odd shade of mushroom: pink, and angrily pink too, loud and proving its right to be here with the rest of them. Somewhere between violet and magenta, the mushroom is smaller than the rest. It stands out. Leon couldn’t help but notice it.

“It almost matches your hair.”

He straightens up again to look at Raihan, who stands with one hand on his hip, a leg bent back, the tip of his boot toeing at the ground. He appears completely relaxed, from the slight, weighted tilt of his head to the uncomplicated posture the rest of his body exudes. He’s waiting, but Leon gets the feeling he doesn’t mind it any.

“My hair isn’t pink,” Leon says, when he’s done raking his gaze over every inch of his dragon friend.

Raihan grins. “I said almost, didn’t I? Come on. Nearly there.” 

Now that Leon’s paying attention, he can smell the water in the air. He can see the dark trickle of liquid on the rocks around them. The next twist in the tunnels has the ever-shifting reflection of water cast on the rocky wall, and when they ‘round the corner, Raihan steps aside for Leon to take in the sight.

It’s a lake, hidden deep, deep in the mountain. The water is clear as crystal; it’s not the mushrooms that provide the spectrum of colors, the stems yearning outwards from the water, but the systems creeping and trailing into the lake, all along the floor of it, lit fluorescent. There’s not a single torch here, and yet Leon can see better in here than he could during the whole of their walk. The entire cavern is lit blue-green-blue from beneath the glassy water, the ceiling low enough that not one portion of the lake’s shelter falls to shadow. 

“This is…” Leon can’t find a word for it. He turns helplessly to Raihan, only to have even the slightest attempt at a word stolen right out from under him.

Raihan’s back is to him — his _naked_ back. The mosaic pattern of scales tracking down his skin moves in full view, shifting with the slight twist of his spine as he drapes his clothes over a flat, dry rock. The scales gather themselves tightly between his shoulder blades and blossom out towards his hips like brilliant daubs of paint, then collecting in thicker shapes on either side of his waist and… 

And above the base of his tail, Leon is able to note, because Raihan has leaned down to take off his trousers, too, his boots already set down out of the way. Leon swiftly glances away from the sudden flash of skin. His eyes fall on the edge of the water instead, where he notices a softly-squared rectangle of soap and a terrycloth rag.

“You bathe here?” Leon asks. Anything to distract himself from the shift of Raihan’s muscle as he balances on the damp rocks leading down to the water.

“Yeah. It’s the only place that keeps warm throughout the year…” Raihan looks up at the ceiling, out at the lake, then back to Leon, tugging his headband off. “It feeds out into the river, but I’ve never dived down deep enough to find out where.” 

His already intense eyes seem somehow more alive here, as if they’re burning. Leon’s having trouble focusing anywhere else. It’s a blessing in disguise. Raihan looks Leon head-to-toe then, his lips curling funny at the corners.

“Are you shy?” Raihan asks, but there’s something strange about the question, something lilting about it.

“No!” Leon, not to be outdone, immediately starts unlacing his tunic, then tugs it over his head, hair fluffed-out wildly afterwards. “I was admiring your bath. This is more luxurious than anything they have in Wyndon.” 

“Luxurious,” Raihan echoes. He’s looking at the lake again like it’s some kind of riddle. 

Leon throws his tunic and undershirt onto the rock beside Raihan’s clothes. “It’s all beautiful! Your view, your bath. Your _mountain_ , Raihan. You don’t see it?” 

“I see it all the time. But…” Raihan tilts his head towards Leon then, levels his half-lidded stare on him thoughtfully, and Leon almost freezes in the process of pulling his trousers down. “I guess it’s nice to share it with someone else. To see what they see.”

Leon forces himself to focus very hard on the rock as he folds his trousers and tosses them there with his clothes. “Are you lonely?” he asks. It’s easier to put the words into the air now.

He hears the sound of water rippling outward from a single point, hears the pause of someone thinking instead of moving. Then: “Not right now.” 

Relief looses the tension in Leon’s ribs. He turns to the water, padding barefooted over to it. Raihan’s slipped into the lake already, stepping lightly farther and farther out. It may not be a huge pool, but it is large enough for two and then some.

Leon steps in — Raihan wasn’t lying when he said it was warm. No river would be this temperature, not with how this spring has been. Leon quickly slides the rest of the way into the water. It isn’t that he’s _shy_ , it isn’t that he’s against nudity, neither of these things, not at all. He’s had to be naked in front of other knights, in front of physicians; here, what causes his skin to prickle hot and his heart to speed up is the act of being vulnerable. 

There is no shame in it, only that tender vulnerability. For all that Raihan is a man, regardless of whatever extra _else_ he is, he could at any moment show his fangs and drag shivers down Leon’s spine...yet it wouldn’t be fear, would it?

The warmth of the water is like a salve for Leon’s sore, aching body. He shuts his eyes for a moment, sinking lower into the water as if it’s a cushion to buoy him up again, and so it does. His hair floats on the surface like odd-colored seaweed, fanning out around him. He’ll get to that; for now, he’s content to enjoy the water and wash after he has his fill.

Raihan’s drifted far enough that Leon feels comfortable doing the same, until his feet can no longer touch the rocks and he’s treading water. 

“Why did you bring me here?” Leon asks, slowly closing the gap between them.

“You smelled like sh —”

“ _No_ ,” Leon interrupts, Raihan’s bright grin lit sharply from below. “Here, to your mountain!”

Raihan pauses, then says, “You needed to recover.” 

“You haven’t brought any of the other challengers here, have you? I haven’t seen a single other person.” A flicker of emotion changes Raihan’s expression into defensive anger, and Leon presses, “I _know_ you don’t eat them. So where are they?”

Raihan’s close enough that Leon can take hold of his wrist, and so he does, keeping him from carrying himself any farther away. There’s a complicated war of emotion in Raihan’s eyes, a grimace to his lips and a set to his jaw. Leon allows it all to play out in silence. The only sound in the cavern is the quiet lapping of water on the rocks.

“I stopped the ones I could,” Raihan says, slowly. “Scared some back. They were better off than the ones who tried to keep going.” He raises his gaze to Leon’s then, looking him in the eye as he confesses, “I’ve buried most of them. I try to track them down if I can. Sometimes animals get there first.”

Leon nods once, swallowing past the grief, allowing the graciousness to stay rooted in his chest instead. These were all people trying to climb the mountain and kill a monster at the top of it. What would they have thought, if after their failure, they found that the monster they hunted was the only one to give them a grave? 

Leon loosens his grip on Raihan’s wrist only to take his hand instead. Raihan’s fingers tense beneath his own. He lifts Raihan’s hand up and brushes his lips lightly across scaled knuckles, then presses his mouth down more firmly on the back of his hand. 

“I never told you,” Leon says, smiling against his skin. “Thank you for saving me.” 

Raihan’s eyes are as wide as the lake. He yanks his hand away like lightning and Leon stares before remembering his reaction to a handshake and realizing —

“ _Oh_ ,” he says, flushing deeply in embarrassment. “That was…I’m sorry, I forgot you wouldn’t know. That was just — it was a kiss. There are all sorts of reasons someone would kiss another person…” 

Raihan’s expression does several frustrated things at once as Leon speaks, until finally Leon just trails off altogether, his own mortification likely nothing compared to Raihan’s confusion.

Without even the slightest semblance of explanation, Raihan shoves Leon’s head under the water, Leon’s yelp muffled into bubbles. Leon flails without any of the dignity of a champion at all, breaking the surface of the water again with a sputter. He blinks the wetness from his lashes and shakes his head fiercely. Raihan blocks the spray of water that Leon sends his way by holding up his arm.

They have a momentary stand-off. Then Leon throws himself at him.

Raihan squawks as Leon’s body slams into him (as much as a body can when in the water). They both go under. Leon blinks his eyes open beneath the surface and finds it just as clear as it seems from above, Raihan backlit by the aqua-blue mushrooms behind him. His eyes seem to glow just like the water. Leon throws himself out of the water again, flinging hair out of his face, grinning freely. Raihan surfaces a moment later, tilts his head as if to get water out of one ear and then the other. 

He sinks low into the water. Leon watches him intently, moving closer to the edge of the water so he can stand.

“I’m undefeated, remember?” Leon taunts.

Only half of Raihan’s face remains out of the water. His amused snort bubbles up to the surface. 

He lunges and Leon fends him off with a quick sidestep; too quickly, Raihan turns again and slams into Leon’s back this time. It’s that tail of his, Leon grouses as he goes down with a gasp, the damn _tail_ , and then he’s under the water again, pushed into the deep end, a strong arm around his waist. It’s Raihan who forces him back up for air, and Leon’s laughing as he bursts through the surface, shaking water everywhere.

Raihan stays below, swimming lazy circles around Leon, who’s been forced to tread water. Leon aims a meaningless kick towards Raihan’s form, the image of him unsteady with the rippling surface, and Raihan twists neatly away. He circles Leon one more time, then rises up right in front of him.

Leon’s breath catches; his laughter stutters. He’s close enough to see how the water drips from Raihan’s skin and bends around the edge of his scales, the droplets caught on his wet lashes, blinked away a few seconds later. He watches Raihan’s pupils: the black slits started narrow but now dilated. Leon glances the slightest bit lower — Raihan’s lips part, a single drop of water caught on the curve of his upper lip.

Raihan kisses him. 

This one is not a chivalrous kiss on the hand. This one is exactly mouth-to-mouth, half of a peck and half of a question of something more. Leon’s eyes flutter shut and he sinks a little lower, only part of his mind on staying above water. Raihan’s arm curls around him again, and Leon’s hyper-aware of it, unable to pay attention to anything except the pressure of his lips and the hook of his arm. It’s not heated, not meant for anything more than a taste.

Leon decides that he likes it.

But he pulls away first, blinking away water that’s dripped down from his hair. Raihan’s already grinning, wide and self-satisfied, fangs in full-view. 

“Did you forget?” Raihan asks him, and there’s that same lilt, the same something in his voice. _Are you shy? Did you forget?_ It hits Leon like a sack of rocks: he’s being _teased_. “I may be a dragon, but I’m a man, too.” 

Leon puffs out a sharp breath to get some of his hair out of his mouth. “Right.” Raihan has made his point _very_ thoroughly. 

Then, because he really isn’t meant to be defeated, Leon touches Raihan’s jaw lightly and then curves his hand to cup his face, thumb sliding along the bumps of scales beneath his eyes. Raihan’s grin flickers; his throat works to swallow.

“Your technique could use some work,” Leon says, as a warm and generous offer. “Perhaps we can tackle that together later?” 

Raihan stares, the color of his cheeks turning somehow warmer. “…If you…yeah. Alright.” 

And then Raihan’s arm disappears from Leon’s back as he ducks into the water again, making a break for the soap waiting at the water’s edge. Leon allows himself a moment to bask in his victory before following after him. They came here to bathe after all. They have done only the first step of bathing: get wet.

Somewhere between point A and point B, Leon’s body remembers that it is only flesh and bone, and that he recently tumbled many, many feet down a very long drop, and that the contact at the end was not kind to him. The bruise deep in his side yowls for attention and the angry ache in his muscles is an insistent knock at the door of his mind. Raihan has already scrubbed his face clean by the time Leon manages to make it to the edge after him, and so he hands over the soap in companionable silence.

Leon has no trouble washing his face, but when he gets to his shoulders, his back —

Raihan’s sitting in the shallowest part of the lake, his lap obscured by lazy ripples in the water, legs dangling over deeper waters. Leon can tell he’s watching him struggle, but Raihan hasn’t offered help and Leon can’t quite reach without feeling as if he’s going to tear something vital.

So Leon looks at him, meeting his gaze. “Do you mind?” 

Raihan jerks his head to say _come on,_ and Leon floats on over. He’s only going to stand off to Raihan’s side, but Raihan tugs him between his knees and turns him around so Leon’s back is to him. Leon’s nape warms, and he hands over the soap.

“You’re not obligated,” Leon begins to say. Then takes a breath as soap-slick hands find his shoulders, kneading out the soreness. “…I’ll owe you an equal kindness after this, how’s that?” 

Raihan leans lower; Leon knows, because suddenly his voice is right at Leon’s ear, his breath warmer than the water: “You don’t owe me for this. Or anything.” 

_Or anything_ meaning the kiss. Leon bites his tongue to keep from grinning. Raihan works the soap into a lather across his back, and when he reaches low enough that the water’s in the way, he eases Leon in towards him, shifting further away so that Leon’s in his spot. Leon adjusts; he sits in the ankle-deep water so that his feet are tucked beneath him. 

Leon doesn’t miss that he’s taking longer than he really needs to, but he can’t bear to interrupt, not when it feels so _nice_. Raihan is exhaustive in his efforts, somehow both torpid and intent in every action. It’s as if he knows exactly where Leon feels the worst of his fall, and despite the occasional pinch of his claws, he works out each and every knot with adept pleasure.

Leon can’t even protest when Raihan nudges him into turning around entirely, facing him in a quiet, content kneel. He has never once felt this at ease before, hypnotized into relaxation by Raihan’s insistent pressure on every problem muscle he has. His hair is still damp, hanging messily in his face, but instead of bothering to shove it away Leon simply drops his forehead forward to rest against Raihan’s shoulder.

Raihan pauses for half of a second before persisting. In that half of a second, Leon thinks: _I owe you nothing because all you want is this._

It’s a miracle it doesn’t come out of his mouth. He’s not sure what he would do if it did. It isn’t that it’s a secret, because it’s not. But he can hear his mother’s voice, stern and thoughtful — _some things are better left unsaid._

“You’re done,” Raihan says eventually, the two words a low, attractive rumble against Leon’s hair.

He’s running a claw up and down Leon’s curved spine. Leon is still bent towards him, breathing slowly, close to sleep. Or maybe it’s that he’s close to dreaming. It’s been a long time since anyone touched him like this, with no ulterior motive. Only curiosity, only wonder.

“Am I?” Leon murmurs. When he speaks, his lips brush Raihan’s collarbone. There are scales here too, less numerous, but there are scales all the same. 

The single claw graduates to a palm, flatly pressed to Leon’s lower back. “Yes, great champion. Some of us have yet to bathe ourselves.”

That makes Leon stir. He straightens, then takes the soap from Raihan’s loose hold. “Let me,” Leon says.

If it is a rare experience for Leon to have this, then what is it for Raihan? The offer alone catches Raihan in a long, spellbound moment of surprise before he agrees with a little, “ _alright_ ,” and yields.

They switch positions. Raihan faces the water and Leon sits behind him, almost flush to his back. His tail is lax, only twitching a little as Leon begins by wetting his skin, drawing handful upon handful of water up to his shoulders and letting it trickle down. He tracks each rivulet with vested interest, desiring the lay of the land here beneath his hands: where the water runs and where it gathers, where it settles and how it flows. 

All the better to know where to have his fingers trace later.

Not that _that’s_ the only reason Leon is doing this. It would be insincere to say that it isn’t a consideration, something kept in mind, but it’s surely not the whole of it. Leon lathers up his hands and runs circles of soap against Raihan’s back, on either side of his shoulder blades. The scales are rough to the touch but not unpleasantly so, like the smoothest armor that Leon’s ever felt, or the softest snakeskin. 

Or like something completely new. Neither of those descriptions really capture the novelty of it. He’s stroking soapy fingertips over a dragon’s trailing scales, and instead of biting his hands off or worse, the dragon in question is leaning into every point of contact like he’s hungry for it.

This is why Leon’s doing this. Because Raihan stands like he’s ready to orbit him for a chance at being close enough to touch. Maybe it’s whatever’s happening between them, this absurd magnetism that arcs through Leon’s ribcage like fire, but maybe it’s that Raihan craves this and Leon can give it to him gladly, _eagerly_ even.

Raihan, as if proving his point, slowly rocks himself backwards. His head falls gently against Leon’s shoulder, his eyes shut. Leon washes away the soap, then dips his head down to plant a kiss into the crook of Raihan’s neck.

“Turn around,” Leon says there.

“Do the rest like this,” says Raihan quietly. One of his eyes cracks open, half-narrowed, and then his lips tip up at the corners. 

Leon doesn’t make him ask again. He lathers his hands once more, then moves his arms beneath Raihan’s to curl around him like an embrace. He adds water as he goes — Raihan makes no move to adjust his methods at all; if anything, he leans even more heavily on Leon. Again, there are the scales that cup the curve of Raihan’s hips, and Leon notices through the water’s refraction that the pattern follows all the way into the inside of Raihan’s thighs. 

He doesn’t wash all the way down out of politeness. Leon cleans away the lather with more water, the occasional kiss pressed to Raihan’s jaw and cheek out of sheer affection. Raihan, on his end, responds to each one with a pleased, throaty sound that Leon is almost totally sure must be the closest thing to a purr that dragons can possibly imitate.

Once Leon is finished with him, he puts the soap back on the edge of the water and then tucks his face against Raihan’s neck. He breathes in. Spice, sand, sun…soap.

“It’s a little luxurious,” Raihan eventually confesses, so soft that Leon wonders if it was meant for his ears at all.

He fits one last kiss beneath the line of Raihan’s jaw, right over the thrum of his pulse, flighty and fast. “It’s getting late,” Leon says, matching his pitch. He still has his arms around Raihan; as if only now realizing the time, he slowly withdraws. “Shall we go up again?” 

After this, he wants to sleep, and he wants to sleep hard. Raihan doesn’t keep him, and for that Leon is grateful, as much as he yearns to pull him in again. It’s for the best; his feet have gotten so pruny that it feels strange to step on the rocks as they finish up and get out of the water. Leon glances up just as Raihan grins and shows off the pads of his feet — scales cover the entirety of them, from heel to toe.

“ _Dragons_ ,” Leon huffs, and Raihan laughs, quickly catching up to keep Leon from getting lost in the tunnels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3


	5. Chapter 5

The next day comes and goes. Leon’s soreness has faded almost completely, and he’s left to wonder if there isn’t some sort of fantastical healing property in Raihan’s hidden lake. If dragons aren’t simply relegated to stories, perhaps magic isn’t either. If he remembers correctly, Sonia and her grandmother were doing certain research into that very question after news of the dragon began to spread. Leon might have to pay them a visit after all of this.

_All of this_ , meaning… 

Leon knows that he cannot spend much longer up here on this mountain. The world is waiting below, and it is waiting with a ravenous impatience. People are undoubtedly betting on Leon to come out of this challenge alive. He’s fought tooth and nail to claim his title of _undefeated_. The kingdom knows that. 

He can imagine it now: people clamoring to see him as he strolls down the lanes leading to Wyndon Castle. Shouts and cheers and cries aloud as he hoists the still-beating heart of the dragon above his head and announces the monster _vanquished_ —

Leon frowns down at his hands, the fire crackling in front of him a reminder that he needs to keep the meat from burning. Raihan had caught them a couple rabbits somehow; when Leon had asked him how he’d done it, Raihan had spat fur out of his mouth and refused to answer. 

Leon flips the meat with a fork and worries his lip between his teeth. The trouble is that there is no dragon. There is only Raihan, interesting and attractive and enigmatic _Raihan_ , with his too-bright eyes and his too-sharp teeth. Raihan is a dragon, certainly, but he isn’t the dragon anyone had been expecting.

And Leon isn’t going to bring trouble down on him. Not for a second.

There’s a _baa!_ that comes from behind Leon; he turns to see Wooloo wandering into the cavern. This is the same cavern Leon woke inside of the first time, but he’s moved his bed into the other room with Raihan’s, deciding that this will be a functional enough kitchen for the moment. The skylights pull the smoke out of the cave well enough, but the smell of the herbs he’s added to the meat apparently hasn’t escaped notice, because Raihan pokes his way in right after Wooloo.

“Smells good,” Raihan says, leaning over Leon to peer at the skewers of meat he’s already made.

“It’s my mom’s recipe,” Leon says with pride, looking up at Raihan. “She keeps an herb garden right outside the kitchen windows. We used to have the whole town visit for big get-togethers.” Wooloo bumps into Leon’s side until he pets her. “They _really_ wanted her food.”

Raihan takes the skewer that Leon offers him, then shuts his eyes and bites off a chunk of meat. He groans instantly, low in his chest, then sets about devouring the rest…save for one piece at the end, which he offers back to Leon. Leon pulls the last piece of meat from the stick with his teeth, chewing happily.

“Maybe there is something to the whole prisoner idea,” Raihan muses, dropping into a squat next to Leon. Their shoulders brush as Raihan leans into his space. “Are you a prince? Do you think you qualify for the role of dragon captive?” 

Leon laughs, giving him another full skewer. “No, no! I’m not a prince—” 

And he stops, blinking. Raihan, mid-chew, stares at him. 

“I suppose I _am_ the closest thing that Galar has to a prince now,” Leon says slowly. “The reward for completing the challenge is the throne. I’ve come the closest anyone will to completing it.”

Which isn’t necessarily true, is it? Leon could leave tomorrow and another challenger, inspired by him, could scale these cliffs and attempt to end Raihan. The thought by itself is enough to have all the nerves in his body swoop high and anxious. And the more time that passes, the more likely it is that someone, somewhere, will find their way here. Raihan can’t hide forever, but the people may not believe Leon’s testimony.

It’s an aspect he hasn’t considered. What _if_ they don’t believe him? What then?

“Not if I keep you here.” 

Raihan’s words cut through Leon’s thoughts. Leon takes a breath and shakes his head, checking the last of the skewers.

“You wouldn’t,” Leon says. Very simply. Very confidently.

Raihan licks sage off of his thumb without looking at him. “…No,” he agrees, rueful. “I wouldn’t. I almost wish I would.”

Leon takes the final skewer off the fire, setting it aside on the plate with the rest, and then he leans into Raihan’s body, their sides flush. All day, they have danced a dance of little touches and small moments. Hints of a bigger picture, teases of memories from the night before. Leon has given in to whatever they are, and Raihan doesn’t seem to want to stop.

When Raihan’s arm slinks around his shoulders and his head drops over to rest on top of Leon’s, Leon relaxes that one, final increment.

“I almost do, too,” he breathes.

He thinks it’s the most selfish thing he’ll ever confess. Raihan turns his face into Leon’s hair and kisses his head.

They eat. It’s easy enough to bounce back into the energy before that conversation, before the reminder that Leon must leave, and he must leave soon. Leon doesn’t say it and Raihan doesn’t ask when he can return. It’s surely heavy in both of their minds, but however much it makes Leon ache, he’s glad to enjoy Raihan’s presence. He’s never met a soul like him. He doubts he ever will again.

In the night, while they’re both waiting for sleep on their respective pallets, Leon looks up at the skylights. “Will I ever get to see you?” he asks.

He hears Raihan roll over, facing his direction now as he replies, bemused, “You’ve seen me plenty.”

“You know what I mean!” Even with Leon’s voice raised, it still feels dampened by the dark. “As a _dragon_. It isn’t fair that there’s plenty of people out there who’ve seen you flying around, but I’ve barely heard a roar out of you.” 

“Not fair—” Raihan coughs to stop the laugh in his voice, but Leon can still hear it. Then he’s turning over again, tossing a single word over his shoulder: “Maybe.”

It isn’t really much of a promise, but it still makes Leon smile. Perhaps one day when his life has settled some and the world is not so busy with him, he can climb this peak again, find Raihan. Beg him to make good on his not-promise and see more than just those eyes of his set against obsidian scales.

(A whispering doubt: if Leon can’t even make time for his family, for Postwick, for Sonia, how could he ever make time for another journey like this one?)

The next morning arrives, but the sun doesn’t. 

Thunder wracks the world, tearing Leon out of sleep. The rain sounds like the heavy drumming of a thousand footsteps on the tightly-packed leaves over the skylights. It’s dim without any sort of light bleeding in. Leon waits for his eyes to adjust, and then he glances to Raihan’s bed, finding it empty. Wooloo’s asleep next to a fallen blanket.

He pushes himself up, rolling the soreness out of his shoulders, then stands. He tugs on his boots and shrugs his tunic on — it smells of Raihan’s soap now, since they washed their clothes yesterday — and has to make a choice: Either he goes the tunnels that lead down to the bath, or he heads towards the exit, which would give a particularly nice view of the storm with the overhang above the entrance. 

Left to his own devices, there’s really no telling how much time this deliberation could cost him. Leon’s fairly sure he remembers the twisting road down to the baths, considering it’s one way, but knowing himself, _somehow_ … 

He heads to the entrance instead.

It’s the right choice to make. Raihan’s silhouetted against the dark clouds outside, standing just inside of the tunnel. His head and his shoulder rest against the rocky wall, arms crossed in front of him. The sound of Leon’s approach is almost completely masked by the downpour, if not by the rumbling peals of thunder. 

Raihan glances over his shoulder right as Leon reaches him. Some emotion in his gaze comes and goes, replaced by a small quirk of a smile.

“Good morning,” Raihan tells him. “Beautiful start to the day, isn’t it.” 

He sounds like he means it. Leon supposes it must not be so bad to Raihan, since it’s keeping him from going anywhere. “It was so sunny yesterday.” 

Raihan shrugs, then looks out at the rain again. “The weather is a fickle beast.” 

Leon stares at the puddles forming, tries to see any further out than the edge of the cliff, but he can only see clouds and rain so dense that nothing seems to exist past it. Lightning flashes bright and before the image has even faded from his eyes, thunder follows on its heels. 

Without thinking, Leon says, “People thought it was your doing. The weather.” 

Raihan looks at him quickly, surprise tugging his brows upward. “Is that so? I wish it was! The Great Dragon Raihan, master of weather…” He grins, all fearless, cutting teeth. “But no, no…it’s just an odd spring. It happens.” 

Leon remembers the almanac sitting on his table. “You like the storms.”

Raihan looks away again. He steps forward to the very edge of the overhang and reaches out a hand, back facing up; the rain pounds his fingers, his knuckles, harsh and unforgiving, until he pulls his hand back again and shakes himself dry. Leon watches him with quiet admiration. The brilliant gleam of his eyes is a good complement to the roiling gray of the sky.

“I like flying in storms,” Raihan says eventually. “The rain stings, but only without…” _Scales,_ Leon understands, watching him absently touch at the ones dappling his hand. “When the storm clouds roll in like this, it drowns all the rest out. If you weren’t here, I’d be out there.” 

So that’s why he’d been able to find Leon. He’d been out and about, flying; he hadn’t been hunting any challengers in the forest.

But Leon had known that already.

“Sorry for keeping you.”

“I’m not complaining, Leon.” Raihan shoots him a half-grin. “Besides…even better than the storms is the feeling when the clouds break hours after. When the sky is clear and the blue is all you can see…there’s nothing like it.”

“Raihan,” says Leon, some urgency between the syllables of his name. 

Raihan doesn’t turn his head fully from the storm. Yet he does glance towards Leon, who moves closer at the subtle invitation. Raihan must see it coming.

Leon catches his nape, draws him in, and kisses him.

The result is as instantaneous as the lightning outside; Raihan arches into him, his hands dropping to Leon’s hips, sliding back to the low curve of his spine. To be wanted as much as one wants — this is an honest offering, and Leon soaks in it. That he has even once considered the act of leaving without giving Raihan something as totally undeniable as this feels cruel. Leon can’t fathom it now. 

The air outside is damp, the thunder rumbling through the rock of the mountain and up into the marrow of Leon’s bones. He pulls Raihan farther into the shroud of the tunnel, steps purposefully around until Raihan can move no further with his back against the wall. Leon doesn’t stop kissing him, not for a second, only stealing breaths in quick, hungry snags when their lips part just enough. 

Raihan straightens up a little, and Leon chases to keep the kiss from breaking; he pops up onto his tiptoes — and now he parts his lips more to invite Raihan in. Raihan goes still. Leon feels those clawed fingers curl gently where they rest at the lower shape of Leon’s back, so tentative.

Leon wrests some of his shredded self-control. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks Raihan, then cups his cheek just as he had in the lake. 

Then, Raihan faltered at the affection in it. Now he rubs his face into Leon’s hand and kisses him there, even as he pleads against the lenient bend of Leon’s palm, “Keep going.”

So Leon does. His other hand joins at the opposite side of Raihan’s face and he pulls, urges Raihan down into a longer kiss. Heat crackles under Leon’s skin and begs him to burn, but he still takes it easy, takes it _slow_. He traces his tongue along Raihan’s lip, cherishes the full-body shudder he feels in return. Leon whispers, “ _Good?_ ” only for Raihan to kiss him so needfully that it comes as no surprise when Leon ends up against the wall instead, tempering a very eager dragon with kiss after kiss after _kiss_. 

Raihan licks into his mouth and a groan spills unbidden out of Leon’s throat, the sound falling into the little space left between them. Raihan’s hands drag up Leon’s spine, ruck up his tunic, and then, just like that, his palms are hot and demanding as he slides them to the bare skin of Leon’s stomach. Helpless to it, Leon drops his head back against the rock, and Raihan settles teeth to his neck. The sharp, dual pressure there is intolerably _good_ — Leon’s breath catches. His grip on Raihan’s back slips and he drags his fingers down, digging them in at his waist again when Raihan’s tongue laves slowly across the bite he’s left behind.

_So this is what it is to melt beneath a hot sun,_ Leon thinks wonderingly.

Raihan’s hands climb higher and Leon presses in for it, giving up all attempts at composure to throw his arms around Raihan’s neck. Raihan shuffle-steps him back again and Leon’s small noise of approval cuts into their kiss; Raihan’s tail lashes in slow, rippling motions as he growls and nibbles at Leon’s smiling lower lip. The sensations travel through Leon’s body like a trembling scatter of electricity. 

Unwilling to part for overlong, but still needing to _speak_ , to get some words out into the heavy air, Leon turns his head and laughs breathlessly. 

“We can take this elsewhere,” he suggests, hopeful. In his arms, he feels anticipation shake Raihan, and he tightens his hold around him. “ _Please_ , I want —”

“I know what you want,” Raihan interrupts, just as airy, bearing the same undercurrent of need.

Leon has never been so glad to be transparent, to have his every motion read so clearly. Raihan has known him for so little time, and yet he is predicting him with disrupting ease. It’s beautifully infuriating.

“You know, if we had fought,” Leon says suddenly, almost tripping over himself on the way back to the room in the cave, so inviting, so perfect, “I would have won.”

Raihan swings him closer with a grasp of his wrist, pressing Leon into the wall. “Oh?” The sound of it is pillowed against Leon’s mouth, Raihan already teasing teeth at his lip. His voice coming after is like a growl. “So sure of yourself.” 

Leon’s spine turns pleasantly liquid, as if his body is metal being poured into a shape for molding. Hardly more than a murmur, a grin against Raihan’s mouth, he says, “Well, I haven’t lost yet.” 

Raihan slips clawed fingers under Leon’s tunic, streaks the pointed tips lightly across his back. Gooseflesh follows the trailing touches, Leon more aware of his own skin than ever, and Raihan’s burying his face against Leon’s throat, into the curve of his upturned chin and the line of his jaw.

Raihan breathes warmly there in that hidden nook of his body: “It would’ve been a close match.” 

A tremor blurs Leon’s confidence, but only in the small, quick spaces between his heartbeats. Then it’s gone.

Despite all odds, they make it to Raihan’s bundle of blankets he calls a bed. By some small miracle Wooloo has moved rooms, and Leon is free to drag Raihan down into the pallet with a great, wild grin. Raihan drops heavily onto the bed over him, on hands on either side of Leon’s head and knees on either side of his thighs, and then he’s crawling higher to straddle Leon properly.

Leon’s breathing too quickly still. His body _yearns_ for the heat of Raihan’s against his, aches for it. Raihan’s pupils are blown the roundest Leon’s ever seen them. Leon, unthinking, only reacting, licks his lips. Raihan’s eyes flick down to watch the path of his tongue; the strength of the delight that snaps through Leon makes him dizzy.

Leon pushes Raihan’s top higher, until Raihan’s shrugging out of it altogether and baring skin and scales to him. His fingers trip down the planes of Raihan’s chest and Leon closes his eyes to remember the silvery trails the water took while he was bathing him. His eyes are still closed when Raihan drops down to kiss him, and then he falls into that instead, gripping Raihan’s hips, making the best of it, pulling his body into him, and —

Oh, the _friction_. Leon’s arousal is impossible to ignore, but his hardness wasn’t fully in the front of his mind, but now Raihan’s answering want grinds down into his lap and he can think of nothing else. One of them breaks the kiss, but both gasp equally wanton sounds. Suddenly, making out and heavy petting is not enough.

Leon tugs Raihan down against him again, his head thrown back into the bed with a breezy question full of heat, “How do you — how should we do this?” 

The sound of ripping fabric answers him. Leon stills and looks down on either side of himself, blinking owl-eyed. Raihan has dug his fingers into his bed so tightly that his claws pierced the blankets.

For a second, Leon imagines the marks those claws would leave behind on his back. The molten want that pools into his gut at the concept is overruled by the accompanying, more reasonable wince. But for a moment, for _one brutally tempting moment_ , he really, really wants to find out.

Leon glances back up to Raihan, whose lips are twisted in an uneven mixture of mortification and frustration. Leon touches his cheek and attracts his open, unfettered attention. 

“Trust me?” Leon asks, smiling again.

The storm passes completely from Raihan’s face. “Of course.” 

Leon eases Raihan down again, sliding his hand to Raihan’s neck, thumb just below his ear. This kiss is slower, paced out like honey dripping from a spoon. Leon memorizes each and every little thing that makes Raihan’s pulse flutter against the pad of his thumb. When Leon grabs his waist with his other hand and digs his hold into the stretch of skin leading inward, Raihan rocks into the touch. When Leon drags exploratory nails across his stomach and lower, Raihan’s muscles twitch beneath his fingertips. When Leon murmurs _Raihan_ , between one kiss and another, Raihan rejoins their lips as if he wants to taste it on his tongue.

When Leon hooks his leg around Raihan’s hip and uses Raihan’s unbalanced weight against him to roll them over, Raihan stares up at him as if he’s been shown something ludicrously captivating.

Taking his time, Leon settles into Raihan’s lap, flicking his head to the side once to get hair out of his face. Raihan covers his face with his hands and groans; Leon grins, taking the edge of Raihan’s pants and tugging them lower, until Leon himself is kneeling by the bed. He takes a handful of suspended moments to tug either of Raihan’s boots off, then returns to divesting Raihan of his remaining clothing. Raihan’s breath stops altogether then.

Leon did not commit Raihan’s body to memory when they bathed together; it seemed impolite then, but now it seems _extremely pertinent_ that he doesn’t forget a single thing, not one thing.

He tosses the pants elsewhere, not caring particularly where. His attention is on more important matters. The scales that weave around Raihan’s hips and thighs don’t travel into the more sensitive places. If there’s some major difference between their bodies, Leon can’t tell. All the better, then; he knows how to work with this, it’s familiar enough.

Leon leans down and kisses across Raihan’s collarbone, his hair falling like a curtain over Raihan’s skin, and then, blessedly, he takes Raihan in his hand. Raihan jumps under his touch, his chin tilted high, the soft _ahhh_ falling from his lips both anticipatory and entreating in equal measure. When Leon sneaks a look, he finds Raihan’s eyes closed and his hands curled into fists at his sides. Against Leon’s thigh, the sensation of scales, sliding, writhing — Raihan’s tail moves, desperate, trapped beneath him. 

Leon strokes him experimentally. Raihan’s hips tilt up, _up_ into his grip, chasing; Leon holds him down with a kiss to the hollow of his throat, sweet in his denial.

“Why,” Raihan groans.

Leon raises his head to meet his gaze. He smiles easily. “I want to learn you before we set about the messier parts of this.”

Raihan’s head falls back again to the bed. Voice slurred with the pleasure of a man happily dragged towards his own undoing, Raihan says, “If you must. But…I’ll think anything you do is good.” 

If that doesn’t make Leon’s heart sing. He moves his hand again, and then again after that, feeling out the twist of his wrist at each apex of the motion. True to his surrender, Raihan doesn’t fight him on his slow proceedings, but he does eventually dig those claws of his carefully into Leon’s thigh, not deep enough to do more than pinch. The restraint in the touch tells Leon a very charming story: that Raihan doesn’t wish to hurt him, that he’s scared he might, that he wants to touch him anyway, and he’s not only trusting Leon, but himself. 

Leon kisses him for it. Raihan’s lips part with soft passion for him, as if they’ve kissed each other a hundred times and not a handful. 

“You’re overdressed,” says Raihan against his mouth, and Leon laughs to break the kiss.

“Would you…?” 

Raihan is already sitting up, hooking fingers into Leon’s tunic to lift it over his head, leaving Leon’s hair a messy mane in the wake of it. Leon’s still straddling his lap; there’s only the cloth of his trousers separating their bodies, and Leon has never wanted clothes to simply melt off of him more than this moment. Raihan does the honors of unlacing them, but Leon has to get up to kick off his boots he’d so hastily put on earlier.

“Hold on,” Leon says. He takes a quick detour to his rucksack, hanging on the wall. He fumbles with the contents inside before he finds what he’s looking for.

When Leon returns, Raihan’s already laying back on the bed again, watching him, his tail flicking every so often. His body is the picture of indolent satisfaction, a lazy satiation waiting to come to him, but his face says so much more than that.

“Hm?” Raihan prompts, catching the flask that Leon tosses to him. Raihan holds it up to the low light in the room. Between his fingers, he examines the little bottle of oil, then looks at Leon. “What do you want to do with this, then?”

That’s the dryest Raihan has ever sounded. “I have some ideas,” Leon says, then takes it from him. He drops to his knees onto the bed and pats Raihan’s thigh warmly. “Turn over.” 

The implication couldn’t be more clear. Leon wonders if Raihan will want to do this differently, but Raihan’s eyes flash hot and he does as asked, turning onto his stomach. He doesn’t lay flat; he has his arms folded under his cheek, head turned to face behind him, knees propped beneath his body. He almost appears as if he’s bowing towards something, a straight slope of a line from the nape of his neck to the base of his tail.

Leon notices Raihan watching him as he settles behind him, sees the way Raihan flexes his fingers into his palms. His tail doesn’t exactly lash like a cat’s — it slinks against the bed, scales rippling dark-light-dark. Leon can’t tell if Raihan’s completely in control of it, or if the reactions are unintentional. Regardless, Raihan’s tail, thick and heavy, smacks gently into Leon’s thigh once, the thinnest end settling half-curled around Leon’s calf. The scales are cool against Leon’s bare skin, nothing like the heat coming off of Raihan’s body in waves.

Leaning down, Leon presses his front to Raihan’s back, curving over him, their bodies pressed against one another. He kisses Raihan’s nape and the little shudder that rolls through him in response makes Leon feel raw and open.

He still has the flask in one of his hands, gripped so tightly that he can feel the top imprinting its pattern into the pad of his thumb. Curiously, Leon drags his teeth over the edge of Raihan’s scales, the ones coming together to form a dark trail down his spine; Raihan gives a luxurious arch of his back, which has the excellent effect of grinding his ass against Leon’s hard length. The bead of wetness that’s formed at the tip smears sticky across the inside of Raihan’s thigh.

“I think,” Raihan says serenely, while Leon struggles for breath, “you could stand to hurry up. Or I could do it myself, and you could watch —”

“No,” Leon says instantly, leaning up to hold Raihan’s hip in place. Raihan flashes him a grin and turns his cheek, resting his forehead against his arm instead. Leon busies himself with twisting the top off of the oil flask. “No, I want to do it for you.” 

Against the bed, Raihan says, “Then do it.” 

The brusqueness hides the depth of heat in his voice, but not well enough. He’s as desperate as Leon is, and likely a little embarrassed, if his tail occasionally shifting position by Leon’s leg is any sign. Leon pours a liberal amount of oil on his fingers; it drips onto the bed, too much.

When he presses his first finger between Raihan’s legs, against his entrance, he expects resistance, stress, nervousness. Yet Raihan opens easily for him, that same laxness to his posture transferring to this intimate act. Leon dips low, kisses the span of his shoulders, tosses the closed flask onto the bed so his free hand can pursue the length of Raihan’s spine and feel him shudder as he curls his finger inside of him, slow and wanting. Beneath his hand, the muscle and bone of Raihan’s back unlock. With his finger, he undoes the rest of him.

The rain has stopped. It’s a distant, vague revelation. Leon’s attention is so wholly devoted to the one allowing him to have this moment that the storm became background noise, and then became nothing at all. He opens Raihan’s body with efficient care, approaching it both as a man with great fondness as well as a man who has thought of this in very fine detail. One finger turns to two, turns to three and then a series of demanding sounds followed by Raihan pushing back into his knuckles and insisting, _I’m ready._

And so he must be, because when Leon spreads oil on himself and slowly, slowly slides in, it is effortless.

The edges of his vision fade dark for the barest second, the sheer _feeling_ of it nigh overwhelming on its own, without hardly moving. Raihan is tight around him, uncompromisingly _good_ , and Leon hangs his head as he breathes. In, out. Slow. Raihan’s shoulders are moving with his own unsteady attempts at filling his lungs. The movements twitch and stutter as Leon presses in as far as he can go, and then…he skates a hand beneath Raihan’s tail, repositioning it. Thick and heavy and an obstacle, he drapes the offending tail over his shoulder with a small laugh.

The laugh jostles him. In turn, it jostles them both. Leon’s laugh cuts off sharply, finding himself more than a little sensitive. Raihan swats a hand backwards to slap him in the hip.

Leon stays, completely bottomed out, for a scant moment. Fully joined, he brushes his hands over Raihan’s sides, half-reverential, half-distracted. His thoughts have broken somewhere along the way, a chaotic snarl of warm desire and sweet delight replacing anything that isn’t related to this.

Raihan pushes himself up from his arms, from his elbows, and then he’s on all fours, glancing behind him. Leon, affectionate beyond measure, meets his gaze and grins slowly at the heat he finds there.

“If you don’t move,” Raihan starts to threaten, but Leon’s already on it.

They are long past the point of moderation. Both of them have come up to the last of their reserves, and now they must give and take, take and give. Leon dedicates himself to this desperate, blazing mess they’ve kindled themselves into, withdrawing in heady slides and pushing his hips forward again with a sole purpose.

One touch blurs into another — his hands on Raihan’s waist, gripping, the oil-wet fingers sliding for purchase, nails digging in at the rough texture of his scales; his body bent once more over Raihan’s, chasing his arched spine with his own form, scattered kisses across the tapestry of his back; the snap of his hips driving into Raihan, the slide of his knees splitting wider apart on the bed.

He has craved soft, tender sounds from Raihan now for what feels like a lifetime. Raihan gives him this too, this sincere intimacy that means everything without a prize attached, because it _is_ the prize. It is warm and it is kind and it is everything real in the world, and Leon hunts it unendingly. He wants this. He _wants_ this.

The heat that nests inside of Leon threatens to brim over, low in his throat as if every breath that escapes him is over-warm with the strength of his arousal. His own punched-out gasps of breath and lust come quickly and readily. Raihan kneads claws into the blankets, such a small detail, and yet Leon is so ridiculously taken by it.

He feels the rapturous brink approaching fast, each of Raihan’s choked out breaths of his name pushing him ever closer. Reaching around, Leon finds Raihan’s length again, dripping wet, and he strokes him fast and rhythmic, in time with his own rocking motions. Raihan gives out with the sensation and his elbows crumple again, face pressed to the bed while the whole of him shakes and spills into Leon’s hand. His shattered moan, muffled as it may be, is the most wonderful thing Leon’s ever heard.

And that’s all it takes. Leon’s own obvious, honest pleasure overturns itself; he follows Raihan across that cresting heat with a small, short cry, shuddering into him.

The earth still turns. The world still goes on. But for the dreamy period of time that follows, filled only by the rough sounds of their panting, it feels to Leon as if nothing exists but this: his body slumped over Raihan’s. They fit together perfectly, one embrace, one satisfaction.

Nothing needs to be said. Nothing at all. With the rain stopped, it’s as if a blanket of unbreachable quiet has come over the world. Yet something sits heavy on Leon’s tongue anyway, has been waiting at the front of his mouth for him to manage the air to make it known.

For a moment, he is only Leon of Postwick, all other layers and titles peeled away, just a man caught in the most intimate of times. 

“I don’t want to leave you,” Leon admits between Raihan’s shoulders. He had thought his most selfish confession came earlier. He had apparently thought wrong. 

Raihan shifts his weight, and then they’re coming apart, Leon sitting up and leaning back, Raihan turning onto his side. Leon’s going to find something to clean themselves up with when an arm hooks around his waist and reels him back in. He collapses against Raihan, and now it’s Raihan pressed all along Leon’s back, nuzzling into his neck with an appropriately menacing amount of affection.

“How else will Wooloo get home?” Raihan murmurs, his lips seeking out the bare skin of Leon’s nape through the tangle of thick hair.

The reminder that his brother is waiting for Wooloo’s safe return makes Leon sigh, and then the selfish moment is gone again. He is once more the Knight Champion of Galar. What will he tell Regent Rose about the dragon? That he hadn’t seen the beast? That he climbed the mountain, brought down Wooloo, and called it a day?

Raihan’s kiss to his neck distracts him from his thoughts. Then comes the sting of teeth against flesh and Leon’s inhale comes quick and sharp. Raihan’s legs are tangled with his, but he wouldn’t escape even if he had the option, keeping lax even as he feels the wet drag of Raihan’s tongue against the irritated skin.

“Oh,” Leon breathes.

In reply, Raihan hums a grating rumble of triumph into Leon’s hair.

Leon reaches down to lightly grip Raihan’s arm where it’s coiled around his waist, then stops, realizing his hand is still very sticky. “Out of curiosity, is that a dragon thing?”

Raihan’s hum turns into an unexpected laugh. “No,” he says, then nuzzles him. “That’s a me thing.” 

Raihan finally summons up the decency to pull a mostly-unnecessary sheet from the bottom of the bed, wiping between his thighs and letting Leon clean his hand. There’s a solid _thump!_ as Raihan flops right back down, even more determinedly curled around Leon. _Possessive_ , Leon thinks; then, _no, protective._

“It’s still early,” Raihan points out. He nips Leon like fond retribution. “Relax.” 

When he says it like that, it’s impossible not to let himself drift.

The bed is small, but they make it work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *casually clicks the rating higher* Anyway-


	6. Chapter 6

In his head, Leon goes over his checklist a dozen times.

Rucksack — contains food packed by himself and Raihan, and a map, also courtesy of Raihan. Armor — waiting for him on the table, where it’s been this whole time, forcing them to take their meals on the floor (which hasn’t been so bad, truthfully). Lamp — sitting by the tunnel leading outward. Wooloo — every so often, Leon hears a happy little _baa_ from the other room, where she’s eating her fill of leafy plants that Raihan keeps for her.

And Raihan… 

His typically lax expression is even more so in sleep. He looks content, his face pressed to Leon’s bare shoulder, his arm still wound around Leon’s hip. The only movement Leon has managed is rolling onto his back. He can’t find it in himself to feel anything but glad about it. 

During the time that Leon’s been awake, the sun has started to peek out of the clouds. The room’s lightening up, tinted green. He turns his head to glance at Raihan again, and instead of meeting Raihan’s closed, dark lashes and half-parted lips, he ends up eye-to-eye with Raihan’s slow-waking gaze. He blinks a couple of times, and Leon is powerless to do anything but smile in response.

“Good morning,” Leon says softly. “Again.” 

Raihan yawns widely, attempting to hide it by pressing his face into Leon’s neck. At the light brush of teeth that follows, Leon shivers. He can still feel the tightness of the skin at the top of his spine; his body recalls the pressure of Raihan’s bite there.

“Doubt it’s even noon yet,” Raihan murmurs, then kisses Leon’s jaw. He brings his lips a little higher, under Leon’s ear: “Should bathe. You smell like sex.” 

There’s a pleasant purr at the end of the remark, like Raihan’s a bit proud. And why shouldn’t he be? Leon is thoroughly mussed. They both are. It’s a good feeling. This is a little victory for them both.

But it can’t last. There’s word of many fallen men to bring back to their grieving families, and if Leon is honest, he looks forward to ensuring everyone knows that they did not meet their ends at the maw of a malicious dragon. That he is overly fond of this dragon doesn’t necessarily _have_ to be mentioned. Likely the people would look at him as if he’s gone mad, exactly the way he would have looked at himself only days ago. 

Perhaps this is all only a fever dream spun by a wounded mind. Maybe he’s still laying muddy and hurt on the forest floor. Raihan surely can’t exist. He’s too impossible.

Leon is interrupted from his preoccupied doubt in reality by Raihan’s hand sliding flat over his stomach, his claws dragging slowly up the span of skin from Leon’s abdomen to his chest, then down again.

“Or…” Raihan begins to suggest. 

“Or,” Leon agrees, already knocked breathless.

Raihan moves; he straddles Leon and braces his hands against either side of his head, one of his index fingers toying playfully with strands of Leon’s thick, long hair, strewn wild across the pillow. He looms over Leon with his back bowed in a pretty curve and his tail hanging over the edge of the bed. His bright eyes glitter with plain, honest interest. 

Leon’s heart twists. He takes him by the nape and brings him in for a kiss.

Many minutes later, during which breaths are exchanged, kisses traded, and pleasure had, Leon somehow finds his legs to wander down to the lake after Raihan. 

The impulsive, selfish back of Leon’s mind whispers: _drag Raihan into the water, feel out his body, clean him only to indulge again and again, you can stay another day, you can stay an entire week._ It’s not a large part of him that yearns like this, that urges him like this, but it is a strong part. There are so many responsibilities, so many things to _do_ , that Leon can’t remember the last time he’s heedlessly chased something so self-centered. As a child, surely. But since becoming a knight…? 

Leon shuts his eyes and sinks into the water. Oh, but he _wants_. He expects that the most selfish thing he’d ever done was pursuing the series of wins that brought him enough favor to become titled Knight Champion. This...thing with Raihan has likely one-upped that. 

Raihan resurfaces feet away, in the deeper water farther out. He shakes out his hair, spraying droplets every which way, and then glances over his scale-patterned shoulder towards Leon. 

It is entirely unfair, the things Raihan does to him.

Leon thinks of all the duties waiting for him back home. He thinks of everything he likes about this mountain now — the view, this lake, its keeper.

And then Raihan draws him into his arms and kisses him, and Leon thinks of nothing at all except the wet parting of his lips, the slight edge of his teeth. He leans into the hands pulling him farther into the lake, shoulders rolling back as Raihan’s hands settle onto them, and the small hum of curiosity Raihan gives as he feels Leon’s muscles shift beneath his touch is worth the little flex.

“You’ve got it bad, huh,” Raihan murmurs, half-playful, half-apologetic.

Leon sighs and drops his forehead to rest against Raihan’s. “Don’t play innocent,” he mutters. “It’s your fault, you know.” 

Raihan’s lips brush the corner of his mouth. “I know.” And in those two words, it sounds more like he’s saying _me too._

The soap awaits, and Raihan guides them back towards the edge. Raihan rubs the soap between his hands and looks at Leon, looks at him attentively enough that Leon feels his nape prickle hot in silent acknowledgement, but all Raihan does is run the soap against Leon’s chest in wide circles, following behind with his palms.

All of the tension in Leon’s body relents, giving out as if he’d been pulled too taut, all thanks to Raihan’s lathered hands smoothing across his skin. Soap bubbles up and Leon shuts his eyes, focused on the feeling of Raihan’s gently-kneading press, how he avoids digging claws into his flesh, made tender by such soft ministrations. The contact alone is enough to sharpen the warmth creeping awake again in the back of his mind, but Leon’s lazy from the way Raihan touches him.

When Raihan finishes with Leon, it’s unspoken and easy for Leon to take the soap and do the same to him. Raihan’s eyes flutter shut while Leon lathers him down, easing a firmer touch into the juncture of his shoulder and neck. He pays close, precise attention to Raihan’s scales, the differing texture of them, the way the water catches on the ridges of them.

When he’s all done with Raihan’s upper body, Leon hoists him onto the edge of the lake, sitting Raihan down there so that his legs splay in the shallow water. Leon remains waist-deep, rubbing soapy hands together. Raihan’s tail floats alongside his right leg, drifting back and forth, and Leon touches gingerly at his tail-tip, curious.

“Pull it,” Raihan says. “I spit fire.” 

Leon gives him a dubious look, though his hand is already gripping the middle of his tail as if he was thinking about it. “...You’re lying.” 

“Might be.” 

Leon finally crooks a small smile at him, and then starts by washing his feet. The scales blossom down his ankles and to his heels. His ankles remind Leon of a bird, thin as they are, but his calves are toned with unapologetic muscle. Raihan’s eyes are even more sleepy than usual when Leon glances back up to look, though there’s a spark of awareness there as their gazes meet.

And Leon is swept up into a sense of righteous frustration.

“The whole world thinks you’re a monster,” Leon breathes.

Raihan pauses, his legs shifting slightly as he moves. Leon’s hand tightens on his ankle, protective, and Raihan does nothing to stop him. “Not the whole world. Just Galar.” 

“You’re not bothered by it?” 

“No,” Raihan says. Then, wondering: “Or maybe I am?”

Leon’s brows come together, perplexed by how apathetic he seems. “You should be. It isn’t fair.” 

Raihan’s languid grin is lopsided. “Nothing’s fair outside of a duel, Champion.” 

Leon prickles at it, needled, and slowly slides his hand higher on Raihan’s leg, feeling out the bumps of scales underneath his palm. Eventually he comes to grip midway on Raihan’s thigh, his thumb sinking into the softer flesh on the inside curve of his leg, the scales winding across his skin blatant and beautiful.

“Everyone needs to know you’re not what they think you are,” Leon tells him. He leans in, settling closer between Raihan’s knees. “They need to know they’re wrong.” 

Raihan stares at him. Whatever he’s thinking, Leon can’t read it on his face. He simply looks, and Leon looks back, waiting. Outside of their soft breathing, the only sound is the echoing drip of water, almost musical in the way this cavern’s shaped.

Still, Raihan says nothing. And still, Leon makes no move to pull away. He lathers up his hands again — in his distraction, the soap’s all washed off — and begins rubbing down Raihan’s legs, thighs and calves and ankles and feet while Raihan’s wheels turn. Leon has a tangled web of restless energy under his skin, but he can do this for him first, rinsing the soap away with diligent attention, even scrubbing slippery palms along Raihan’s tail to get the pretty scales spotless.

Raihan says, “You’re making this difficult.” 

Leon turns his attention upwards, back to his face, blinking twice. “Am I being too forward by assuming—”

“No,” Raihan interrupts. He pauses, then looks down into his lap; Leon’s hands rest on either of his thighs. “If you’re trying for a serious conversation, it’ll have to wait.”

Leon follows his gaze, then flushes so hot he wonders if the water doesn’t become a few degrees warmer. He doesn’t dare let go, though. “Well…” And he meets Raihan’s gaze. “Do you want a conversation, or…?”

Raihan’s already on him, pushing off from the shallow water and causing Leon to stumble back a couple steps. The last time they’d kissed here, it had been far more measured. Now it is familiar meetings of lips, hands across skin finding sweet, vulnerable places that were so recently discovered.

Leon has to wonder if it was just the touching that brought Raihan to such a simmer, or if it was the talk itself, Leon defending his honor, Leon professing support. It doesn’t make a difference in the end; he’ll still hold Raihan, he’ll still lend him his word as both knight and more. He’d vouch for him even if the whole world refused to believe that he wasn’t a monster. Leon’s feelings matter little — it’s only the right thing to do.

Raihan dips below the water suddenly and Leon tries to look at him through the ripples only to nearly lose his balance in the chest-deep water, gasping with the sensation of slick, velvet warmth around his hardening length that can only be —

“ _Raihan_ ,” Leon manages, shoving a hand under the water to find Raihan’s head; Raihan catches his hand first, a flutter of bubbles rising to the surface, and Leon laughs with the ridiculousness of it. His amusement tapers off to a moan as he feels Raihan’s tongue flatten against the underside of his cock. 

“How long can you even hold your breath,” Leon mutters, his eyes shutting in brief indulgence. He doesn’t let it last, reaching down with his free hand to find Raihan’s nape, and when he squeezes once he feels Raihan’s lazy mouth pause.

A moment later and Raihan surfaces, blinking water out of his eyes with a smug half-grin. 

“You should’ve done that the first time we came down here,” says Leon, a little airy with aroused surprise.

“Nah.” 

Raihan presses into his space and pulls Leon towards the rocky bank of the lake, situating him until Leon’s shoulder blades fit against it. Here, the water is up to his chest, no decline leading to deeper water to speak of. Raihan settles there in front of him, their bodies flush, quite literally putting Leon between a rock and a hard place; Leon gives him an appraising look before Raihan snakes his hand low under the water and finds Leon’s length again, giving him some lazy, pleased strokes.

Leon can’t last long, already keyed up and spent from their morning, and he drops his head to hide his face into the crook of Raihan’s neck as his breathing speeds up. Raihan rubs his cheek against Leon’s hair, his scales catching against it, and somehow that’s the clearest thing that Leon knows: the little pinprick tugs in his scalp from Raihan’s scales pulling at individual strands.

His arms wind around Raihan, holding him close, a breath of a request passing his lips there against Raihan’s wet shoulder: “Come with me.”

Raihan’s hand grips a little tighter in reply, strokes a little harder, and heat overtakes Leon’s body, his small moan buried there against Raihan’s throat as he spills. Through the fuzzy bliss afterwards, Leon fumbles his arms free and reaches between them to grasp Raihan’s cock, sliding his grip on him as he kisses along his neck, feeling Raihan’s muscles slowly go to liquid against him until he tenses all over and shudders, pulsing in Leon’s hand. Raihan is quiet save for one soft, pleading noise, half-strangled, half-delighted end.

Leon draws back only to find Raihan’s mouth, the eager presses of their messy, parted lips impassioned and tender. He dances fingers up and down Raihan’s sides, grazing over hard scales and water-slick skin, squeezing hips once he takes hold. 

Then, once the daze of pleasure has passed and his head is clear enough, Leon says again, “Come with me.”

“I just did,” Raihan mumbles, nuzzling further against Leon’s shoulder as if trying to burrow into his hair.

Leon clears his throat to hide his embarrassed laugh. “Come with me to Wyndon.”

The moment that Raihan realizes what Leon said is obvious; he goes still, breaths even pausing as if to absorb it. Leon drags a hand upwards to rub his back, pressing lightly down on his spine to soothe. 

Raihan leans away to look at him, only the briefest flash of uncertainty giving him away. “Why?”

“To show them,” Leon says. “You’re not a monster. You’re just Raihan.” 

“The dragon responsible for sending terrible storms to everyone’s doorstep.” Raihan’s voice is dry.

“ _No_. The dragon who’s been cataloguing the weather, who could probably update our meteorology methods with some very good data.”

“…The dragon who’s eaten all the people stupid enough to try and climb a mountain.” 

“The dragon who’s buried the unlucky ones.” 

They stare at each other. Raihan’s vivid eyes are flinty, narrowed. Leon doesn’t drop his gaze, a fire burning strong in his chest, unquenchable even in the wake of Raihan’s sweeping cynicism. Neither of them back down, and then Raihan’s grimace changes incrementally into something less harsh, as if it takes physical effort to dim his own frustration. He starts to drift out of Leon’s hold.

Leon’s stubborn, but he isn’t cruel. He reaches up and cups Raihan’s cheek before he can dip away completely. “Raihan,” he says, honest and serious as can be. “If you like it better up here by yourself, only visiting to talk to a merchant every moon or however infrequently, _fine_.” He pulls Raihan closer again, urging. “But I want you to come with me.” 

“Because you think they’ll change their minds so easily,” Raihan says slowly, but his cheek is tipped into Leon’s palm, not just allowing the touch but encouraging it.

“Because I’ll miss you so badly that I hate to even think of it,” Leon tells him, determined.

Raihan’s eyes widen. His expression goes slack. Leon slides his thumb beneath the curve of his eye, back and forth, and his own lips tug up into a smile again.

“I’ve known you for only days. But I’ll think of you for months.” Leon swallows, voice thick. “Will it be the same for you?”

Leon sees the way Raihan works to clench his jaw. He sees the flick of his eyes, from left to right to over Leon’s shoulder and back again, such an impervious composure broken now by honesty. Leon drops his hand from his face when the moment stretches too long, but Raihan catches his wrist and squeezes once. 

“You’re a maniac,” Raihan says finally. “You get your pretty self saved by a dragon, and —”

“I’m pretty?” Leon interrupts, chuffed. 

“I’m not stroking your ego,” complains Raihan, then slaps a hand over Leon’s mouth when he parts his lips for a funny remark. Raihan’s eyes blaze, bearing down on him, and the humor dissipates right out of Leon. “No, _listen._ You throw your lot in with me, who knows the trouble that’ll find you. You don’t even have an inkling of what this would do to you. _Knight Champion_. Your sparkling reputation, washed away in a storm.”

Leon stares at him, his mouth set in a grim line against the stubborn seal of Raihan’s hand. Raihan’s breathing is faster and he bares his pointed teeth. His pupils are narrow slices in his eyes, just as sharp as the rest of him, his claws almost digging into the side of Leon’s face.

And Leon —

Leon furrows his brows and kisses his palm.

Raihan blinks and all those sharp edges flatten out into surprised fluster; he recoils like Leon’s burned him, and then it’s Leon who flares hot and impatient.

“You’re worried about me,” Leon announces. “But will you miss me?” 

Raihan appears so agitated that his hair almost stands up like spines. “Leon—”

“I’ll miss you,” Leon insists. “Every day.”

Raihan’s face has turned an excellent, novel shade of _flushed_.

“And I might be the Knight Champion, but I could be more.” 

Raihan exhales as if the entire world has flipped upside down in front of him.

“Will you miss me?” Leon asks, one more time.

Finally, Raihan falls loose from his remaining tension, the weight of his concern coming down on him and tugging his whole tall form into a despondent lean. He moves and drops his head onto Leon’s shoulder, arms curling around Leon’s body, holding him closer than close. Leon’s own hands drape onto his back, between his shoulder blades. His palms settle over the scales beneath, but his fingertips touch only soft, soft skin.

“I don’t want you to go at all,” Raihan mumbles, quiet. 

“…Then come with me,” Leon says softly, turning his cheek so his lips brush Raihan’s temple. “You can help me win the challenge. Who’s going to argue when a prince is vouching for you?” 

Raihan sounds almost as if he’s sulking when he mutters, “You have to kill me for that.”

“No, I don’t.” Leon grins. “I just need your heart.” 

There’s a pause, elongated and heavy, and then Raihan is leaning back again — no longer trying to escape, but trying to discern. “Excuse me?” Raihan prompts, disbelieving, searching Leon’s face. 

“The challenge involves ascending the mountain and returning with the dragon’s heart.” Leon’s grin widens. He lifts his hand to Raihan’s chest. “If you’ll miss me like I miss you, then I know I’ve done it. I have your heart.” 

Raihan’s lips slowly tilt upwards, the smallest hint of a smile. “Is that right?” 

“I’d rather not cut it out of you,” Leon says, giddy now. “But if you come with me, it’s indisputable, isn’t it?” 

“I suppose so.” Now Raihan is grinning too. “You want me to come with you so you become a prince, then you can vouch for me, and the people won’t try to run me through?” 

“It’s a flawless plan.” 

“It’s a stupid plan.” But Raihan is leaning in and kissing him, very gently, hardly a brush of their lips together. Softer, almost a breath, Raihan asks, “You really want me with you?” 

Leon kisses him properly, firmly, no doubts. “I want nothing more.”

Raihan shuts his eyes, resting his forehead to Leon’s. “It would be more effective if I actually looked the part, wouldn’t it?” 

It takes Leon a solid few moments to realize what he means, and then he’s excitedly perking up, taking Raihan by the shoulders and shoving him back so he can look him over as best as he can in the water. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Leon demands, his cheeks hurting from the width of his smile.

Raihan looks entirely composed and calm now, shrugging once as he slips out of Leon’s hold to go to the edge of the rocks. “Come on,” he says. “You’re all packed, but I’m not.” 

Leon scrambles to get out of the water with him, bounding over to his clothes, squeezing water out of his hair on the way. “I don’t suppose you know of a way to reach Wyndon by the evening?” he asks innocently. “The ball is tonight. It would be the fastest way to get the word out that you have my protection.” 

Raihan glances over his shoulder, amusement curling his lips. “You want to crash a party?” 

“Well,” Leon starts, about to defend the Wyndon Ball in all its spectacle and glory and fun, except that he’s never much liked having to play politics and social games at Regent Rose’s side. So instead, as he pulls his tunic on over his head, he says, “Yeah, actually.”

Raihan throws an arm around his back as they walk, and Leon knows he’s not imagining how much his tail is lashing. “Oh, I like you.” 

Leon brightens and kisses his cheek. Raihan turns his head almost bashfully in the second afterwards, but Leon doesn’t miss the way his face has darkened in flush.

Right before they reach the main cavern again, Leon pauses. “You collect books and the like,” he says. “Art. What else?”

Raihan has already moved off to begin shoving things into a bag of his own — it’s much larger than Leon’s, and fully leather besides, well-made and obviously well-loved. Raihan looks up, and then his brows come together, questioning. “Plenty of things,” he says. “Why?” 

Leon tugs at his tunic. “I don’t have the time to go to a tailor, and I can’t show up to a ball in _this_ , so…” 

Raihan’s grin is as dragon as they come when he realizes what Leon is getting at. “Let me see what I have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to try very hard to publish the last chapter maybe a little bit early? We'll see~ Thanks for sticking with me for this long!
> 
> EDIT: oop, I was a little too hopeful. I've had some circumstances come up this week so it appears that the last chapter will be a little late. Please don't fret <3 Take care of yourselves and be well :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I *thought* I was going to be late with this chapter. APPARENTLY NOT *pops confetti*

Historically, the Wyndon Ball begins at the moment the last of the day’s light spreads through the wide, extravagant ballroom of the castle, the entire room washed in color as the orange rays pierce through all the stained glass. The sun’s slow descent signals the start of the real festivities, and everyone files up the castle stairs and through the imposing doors, finally settling into the main, impressive space. The ballroom is the largest room of the castle — the second largest is the throne room. 

Long tables set with food and drink and sweets and snacks are set up to greet each and every guest, all of them dressed in their finest attire. Last year, everyone had favored proper ballgowns and long, trailing coattails. Leon had grown tired of stepping on his own jacket before he’d even had his first plate of food. 

If Leon was present from the very start of this year’s ball, he would be positioned right next to Regent Rose, Advisor Oleana standing tall on the Regent’s opposite side. Regent Rose would be seated at the head of the room, not in a throne, but in such a chair that it might as well be one. He would entertain anyone who passed by him, Leon and Oleana meant to nod and smile, nod and smile, nod and smile.

But he is not present from the very start of this year’s ball. The sun is lingering in the sky yet, not quite dipping down towards the horizon — though it’s beginning to be a close thing — and Leon is standing on a mountain, not outside the castle doors.

Not more than a handful of nights ago, Leon had stood outside of Raihan’s neat system of caves and caverns and he’d peered out over the landscape. Then, he’d only taken cursory note of the larger platform much higher up than this one. It makes sense in hindsight that Raihan would need a place to land if he had more than two feet…and if those feet were actually large, talon-tipped claws at the time. 

“You’re telling me,” Leon says incredulously, standing with Raihan on this other, bigger platform, “that you have to  _ strip  _ to become a dragon?” 

“If I want to keep my clothes, yeah.” Raihan rubs his nape, appearing less embarrassed than lazy, then begins to take off his shirt.

Leon frowns, though his frown is certainly not targeted towards Raihan. “I assumed, I don’t know,  _ dragoning out _ was more…” He gestures, at a loss.

“Natural? Hate to tell you, but it doesn’t get much more natural than this.” 

Leon’s vision is briefly obscured by Raihan’s pants, which he flings at Leon’s face with wild abandon. Leon flails momentarily, and when he huffily folds the offending garment, Raihan’s most definitely standing there, gleaming in the sunlight, in the buff. 

Leon absolutely does not look him over admiringly. He looks him over… _ appreciatively _ . 

Raihan grins, tail flicking madly. “You’re not looking bad yourself, by the way.” 

Leon looks down at himself. Between the two of them, they’d managed to dig up some truly anachronistic clothes from one of Raihan’s surprisingly organized hoards of historical  _ things _ . Leon wears a tailcoat jacket in a nice wine red, trim and conveniently well-fit to his form. The trousers match, and they did their best to undo all the wrinkles and creases that have formed after however long the outfit’s been tucked into the trove. Leon even found a cravat that wasn’t moth-eaten, and that adorns his neck in all its fluffed-out majesty. 

The boots he has on aren’t exactly his size, but they go up to his knee and catch the shape of the trousers well enough, and they don’t look as if they’ve been kept in the corner of a dragon’s cave for the last several years. Passable, they decided.

Leon’s hair, though, has been a whole other nightmare…hence the tie keeping it back now, the thick waves draping down from the ponytail. Raihan has seemed particularly enchanted with this, constantly touching, tugging gently, feeling the strands. Leon had caught him eyeing the back of his neck quite a few times, hidden by the higher collar of the jacket, but otherwise exposed thanks to his hairstyle of choice; when prompted a frank  _ why? _ , Raihan had only huffed and ran his thumb against Leon’s nape. The immediate twinge of the bruise had reminded Leon  _ exactly  _ why. 

Which brings them here…to the ledge on Raihan’s mountain, where either Leon is overdressed or Raihan is completely underdressed.

Leon collects Raihan’s abandoned clothes, folding them over his arm with care. “Can you still talk when you’re all…?” Leon raises one hand, miming claw-fingers.

“No,” Raihan says, sounding almost apologetic. “But don’t worry. You do something I don’t like, I’ll just gobble you up.” 

Leon rolls his eyes while Raihan cackles at his own joke and proceeds to roll out his shoulders, stretching. He doesn’t know how much of this preparation is necessary — how could he, it isn’t as if there’s a manual — but he trusts in Raihan’s judgment. He trusts  _ Raihan _ . Whatever he thinks he has to do to work up to flying with Leon into Wyndon, let it be done. 

“I’ll be on your back, right?” Leon says then.

“Yeah.” 

Leon nods at that, still haunted by the image of himself as a sheep, kept closely guarded by a cage of big, sharp dragon teeth. 

And speaking of sheep —

“Baa,” says Wooloo appropriately, bounding over to Raihan. She nudges him in his calf, which earns her a jaunty pat from Raihan.

“You have to hold onto her, don’t you?” Raihan tells him, a little smile on his face.

They’ve already decided they’re going to head straight to the ball first, and then handle delivering Wooloo off to Hop. The concept of crashing the ball isn’t what’s  _ truly  _ causing Leon’s heart to bounce into overdrive; no,  _ no _ , it’s the overwhelming knowledge that he’s going to be introducing Raihan to his family somewhere between the words ‘this is the dragon on the mountain’ and ‘I think I love him.’

Leon is interrupted by his very, very consuming thoughts by Raihan bouncing on his toes and then flinging himself off the edge. Leon’s entire heart leaps after him.

“ _ Raihan _ —”

The wind rushes in his ears as he throws himself forward, heels skidding in the dirt as he reaches the edge, looks over it —

And there’s a great, dark wingspan far below, a dragon gliding in a slow downward arc before a strong flap of those wide wings sends him hurtling up and up, closer and closer still. That buried, instinctual piece of Leon scrambles out of fear, but Leon’s movements are measured as he steps back towards the tunnel leading down into the caverns again. He doesn’t take shelter, but he waits, Wooloo calmly trotting after him.

A rush of wind musses his hair as the dragon —  _ Raihan —  _ settles down onto the ledge with him. He’s so large that he takes up most of the space, those blue-black scales deep and gorgeous in the sun. Leon’s dreamlike, smudgy memory of what Raihan looked like as a dragon is nothing in comparison to seeing him up close and personal like this, with his thick tail draped off the side of the ledge, his neck graceful but not overly long; his body is muscled, but surprisingly dainty, though the claw-tipped four feet don’t seem dainty in the least. Spines line the curve of his back, and as Raihan settles back on his haunches and examines him in return, Leon sees that there are smaller spines on either of his cheeks too, below his eyes, exactly where his usual speckled scales are.

But those eyes remain the same, vibrant with a laughing curiosity to them that makes Leon smile…albeit a little nervously. He realizes he’s clutching Raihan’s clothes to his chest, and he shakes the tension out of his shoulders, taking a breath for what feels like the first time in too long. “Well,” Leon says, somehow keeping his voice steady. “Look at you.” 

Raihan snorts and leans his head down to push his snout against Leon’s head. His jaw, Leon notes, is definitely wide enough to snap down on him, but all Raihan does is nudge him and snort a second time, gentler.

And just like that, the rest of the nerves dissipate and Leon laughs. “You’re already tall, but this is something entirely different,” Leon tells him, grinning helplessly.

It’s true. Raihan  _ dwarfs  _ him. Leon has to tilt his chin upwards to keep his eyes on Raihan’s when Raihan inclines his head again. His wings are drawn in close to his body right now, and even having seen them, Leon can’t quite conceptualize the very size of them.

Wooloo leaps between them, well on her way to rubbing her wooly self against Raihan’s massive chest, and Raihan eagerly noses down at her. Leon takes the opportunity to step forward as well, reaching out a hand to run his palm across the scales lining Raihan’s neck, smoother at the underside, at his throat, and with a more rippling, rough texture outward. Raihan lifts a foot delicately, making space for Leon to touch wherever he likes, and Leon gives him a look.

“I don’t suppose you have a saddle,” Leon says, then pauses. “Would that be weird? That would be weird, wouldn’t it.” 

Raihan calmly shoves Leon back and lashes his tail with indulgent ease, a low thrum of a sound coming from him like amusement.

Leon recovers and swats his hands good-naturedly at Raihan. “Alright, alright. Let’s go, then.” He grabs his sack and throws it over his shoulders, sword on his hip and shield on his back, and scoops Wooloo up into his arms. Raihan lowers his head and flattens himself as best as he can to the ledge, making space for them to climb on.

It takes more than a few reassuring words to get Wooloo to settle down between Raihan’s great shoulders, but once she decides it’s a cozy enough spot, she flops over and relaxes. Leon climbs on behind her, securing them both in place as best as he can by winding ropes and ropes and more ropes around Raihan’s neck and themselves.

It is likely the least safe thing Leon has ever done, and he has never been more thrilled.

“You’ll catch us if we fall, won’t you?” he asks Raihan.

Raihan turns his head to give him one, single-eyed look of bemusement, before he begins to stand. The shift of muscle beneath Leon is a good enough warning to hang on, Wooloo content to stay huddled between Leon’s chest and Raihan’s back.

It was many steps for Leon to reach the edge of the platform by himself; for Raihan, it’s a simple matter of carefully turning around without losing his footing. Leon’s nerves kick up again, this time doubly as insistent, and he shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, rubbing Raihan’s back gently with his hand, soothing pats for himself and for the dragon about to fly them the full distance to Wyndon Castle…all before sunset.

Leon looks down across the landscape, painted a gorgeous palette of greens and browns in the full light of day. He tosses one glance over his shoulder at the tunnels he’s become so familiar with over the last handful of days. He looks down at Wooloo, already half-dozing, and he looks at the spines weaving down Raihan’s back.

“Let’s go,” he says again, soft enough that the wind nearly snatches the words right out of his mouth, and then Raihan dives off the ledge. 

Leon’s first mistake is assuming gripping with his knees will be enough; it isn't. He has to hang onto the rope and even then his body wants to fall along with Raihan. It would be tragically simple for him to be torn off from Raihan's back through sheer windpower alone, and gravity would do the rest. His eyes sting as their downward angle stays unceasing, but once the shock wears off — as if it ever will — Leon realizes they're not shooting straight down like he'd first assumed. No; they're coasting slowly down to what is almost a cruising speed, though when Leon glances below them (a mistake), he sees just how fast the trees are moving under them...and just how far away they are from them.

Wooloo, a paragon of peace and calm, starts to gently snore.

Raihan inclines his head a bit and keeps his wings level, only the occasional flap forcing Leon to adjust his balance. Now that Leon isn't holding onto Raihan for dear life, the excitement takes over. He laughs wildly, feels Raihan’s body underneath him rumble as if in agreement. 

“Oh, we're going to get there in no time!” Leon shouts earnestly. “Wyndon is due west!”

Raihan glances back at him with a narrowed eye, all but shaking his head. 

“Right, right,” Leon says, quick. “I meant north.”

They're going to go into the history books together, Leon thinks, a thrilling flutter of nerves in his stomach spreading a grin across his face.

  
  


Earlier that morning, everyone on their way to the Wyndon Ball had tsked and tutted over the weather. This downpour, they had complained, would delay  _ everything _ . And it would be such a shame to have to put off a celebration that had been so long-awaited. Why, indeed, this was the only event that anyone had been looking forward to; as it turned out, word of a dragon waiting to snatch any wayward folk up into its jaws was, as some might put, a  _ huge downer.  _

But to despair was to show little faith, as it had not been long before Regent Rose had very kindly informed everyone that the storm must be because of their great Knight Champion scaling that mountain, surely dueling the wretched beast atop the peak. Everyone had decided that made sense, and any complaints had tapered off into cheerful whisperings across town.

Well, then the rain had stopped, and Regent Rose had supposed aloud for all to hear that the Knight Champion must have prevailed! Everyone had just as quickly decided this also made sense.

Nobody would ever come to know what he would have said if the rain hadn’t stopped, or what he would’ve said if Leon never came back, because it was at that very moment, with everyone gathered around the castle stairs and Regent Rose and Advisor Oleana standing at the top, that Leon did come back.

Or, more specifically, he came from the sky on a dragon’s back.  _ The  _ dragon’s back.

“Please stop screaming!” Leon shouts as they descend, gently enough that he can raise his hands over his head and wave his arms around as if to calm the pandemonium breaking out under them. He feels Raihan snort.

They land between the people and Rose, Raihan delicately tucking his wings close to himself to avoid inadvertently knocking someone off their feet, even though it seems most people are doing a good job of tripping over themselves without the outside help. Raihan tilts over as if to let Leon off, but Leon only shakes his head and stands on Raihan’s back. He expects he’ll pay for it later, but for right now—

“I, Leon, Knight Champion of Galar, have returned!” Leon yells, cupping his hands around his mouth. Raihan’s tail flicks gently. “And I return not with our enemy, but with our friend!”

Not a soul looks his way. Everyone continues to scream, run, and panic. Leon glances over his shoulder at Regent Rose, only to find him hiding behind Oleana, whose face is white as a ghost. Even the knights stationed nearby have already taken shelter.

Leon sighs and looks at Raihan. “This is not the reception I was imagining.” 

Raihan snorts again, this time shaking gently so Leon nearly overbalances. Message received, Leon climbs off of Raihan. Wooloo, more than awake now from all the yelling, bounds down from Raihan’s back to land neatly into Leon’s arms.

“Alright, backup plan,” Leon says after putting her down. He takes his cape out of his rucksack and readies himself.

They’d discussed this earlier, only at Raihan’s more cynical behest. He hadn’t seen Raihan shift into a dragon the first time, having been far more worried about him falling to his doom off of the mountain, but this time he’s granted the opportunity to see the way the scales almost seem to shimmer and shed off of him — though no scales are left behind on the ground. It’s like looking at a mirage, and the very second he seems vaguely Raihan-shaped rather than mostly dragon-shaped, Leon crouches and wraps him up into his cape.

“My back,” Raihan hisses, “is  _ killing  _ me.” 

Leon laughs despite himself, and stands with him, one arm supporting Raihan. “Bear with me a little longer, will you?” 

“You and your dramatics.” Raihan seems skittish still, his tail lashing — but much smaller now, so there’s no danger of him taking out a castle wall or several people — and his body tense against Leon’s.

“You enjoy it.”

Leon keeps his arm around him as a hush falls over the people, first over those who had not yet reached shelter, and then what feels like the whole of the city. His skin crawls in a way he hasn’t felt since he won his title; it’s like every eye in the world is on the both of them. Leon can feel Raihan’s buzzing nerves, the way he’s torn between leaning into the dazzling spectacle and taking off again. Leon squeezes him and looks up towards Regent Rose, who’s taken a step around Oleana to stare wide-eyed and stunned at the both of them. 

Here goes nothing.

“I, Leon, Knight Champion of Galar, have returned!” Leon repeats loudly, standing strong and tall with Raihan standing even taller next to him, the cape barely covering what it needs to. Not the graceful entrance they’d wanted, but this should do the trick. “And I’ve returned  _ victorious _ !” 

The quiet words from the crowd surround them instantly:  _ But the dragon is right there! But he’s no dragon, look at him. But he has a tail, look at it, right there. But he’s not a dragon anymore. But, but, but. _

Rose manages to find his nerve, at least, clearing his throat and stepping up to the stairs again. He glances towards Raihan first, who gives him a fancy little wave as best as he can while still holding the cape up.

“Knight Champion,” says Rose. Oleana scrambles to stand next to him. “We…we find ourselves overjoyed to see you hale and whole, but we...I…” 

He blinks several times. Oleana steps in. “You have arrived in a decidedly surprising manner, and we find ourselves at a loss as for how to accommodate you.” 

A pointed glance at Raihan says  _ but we mean  _ you _ , actually _ , and Leon tightens his hold around him.

“My eyes weren’t deceiving me, were they?” asks Rose then. “This is the dragon who has troubled, harassed, and hunted us?”

The crowd cries their agreements. Leon speaks instantly, anger flashing hot. “The dragon’s name is  _ Raihan _ , and he has been a caretaker and friend to me in the days following my departure. I would be dead if not for him.” 

Shock ripples through the audience, and more importantly, across Rose’s face. To hear of their undefeated champion possibly coming to an end, if not for this dragon? Impossible. Raihan’s eyes flick around, but his expression stays cool as ever.

“You vouch for him?” Rose presses. He’s practiced when it comes to this; he has been regent for a long enough time that his skills are not in sharp swords but in sharp exchanges as these.

Leon tilts up his chin. “I vouch for him, because he has done none of the things you accuse him of. And more than that —” because it isn’t enough somehow, his voice raising with every word, and so too does the din of the crowd, enthralled and captivated by this display of honest devotion from their knight champion, their beloved Leon “— I would defend him, I would fight every knight in the kingdom a dozen times over, I would toss my title, I would die for him if I had to…”

Rose seems as if he might be holding his breath. Leon looks him right in the eyes, self-assured, unwavering.

“…And I would declare myself prince,” Leon finishes, “because I have completed the challenge, and I have returned with the dragon’s heart!”

The crowd explodes into animated delight around them, and no longer are people hiding, but pressing forward as if to get a better look at Raihan, who seems to have shrunk several inches in height and appears to be attempting to bury himself into Leon’s cape. Leon grins widely at him; Raihan stares at him for a long moment, wide-eyed and flushed dark, before a small smile twitches his lips higher.

It takes Rose an impressively long time to calm things after that, and when things have gone quiet enough, all silent outside of soft, nervous breaths as everyone awaits the regent’s judgment. While he normally appears so put-together, not a hair out of place, he truly looks flustered now.

“The challenge was written clearly enough,” begins Rose. “We called for the dragon’s heart, and you have brought us the dragon himself.” 

Leon immediately opens his mouth to argue, the crowd beginning to murmur their discontent.

“Our Knight Champion has followed the challenge completely, hasn’t he?”

Oleana, who has until now stayed at the Regent’s side, speaks up over every other voice. Her words ring out across the air; Rose looks at her as if she’s slapped him, but she doesn’t balk, continuing on as if he’s not even present. “Knight Champion,” Oleana says. Leon perks. “You say you vouch for him because he’s not guilty.”

Leon glances at Raihan, nudging him.

“I’ve heard you lot think I’ve been changing up the weather on you?” Raihan says. “That’s not something I can do. Shame, too, because it’d be neat.” His voice carries well, and as he talks, he loses whatever nervousness that had dragged him down. Leon’s reminded of how he held himself when they first met; there’s a languid ease with his posture, his tone.

“And those knights who tried to get to me? I can show you where I buried each and every one.” Raihan shrugs once, and though from many the action would be apathetic, it looks so very naturally sorry from Raihan. “But it wasn’t me that got to them, I promise.” 

Wooloo, with her ever excellent timing, trots proudly around Raihan and Leon, bumping against Raihan’s shin once. Oleana’s brow arches down at the sheep.

“Oh, yeah,” Raihan adds. “And I don’t eat pets.” A pause, and then, with disgust: “Or people.” 

Leon’s grin is so wide it hurts, even as Rose scoffs so loudly that it sounds like he’s sneezed.

“…And you accompanied the Knight Champion despite knowing these…assumptions we had?” Oleana prompts.

“Yeah,” Raihan says, then leans into Leon’s shoulder. “I kinda love him.” 

The sun chooses that moment to shine just right over the castle, brilliant against the stained glass, and though they’re outside and can’t see the rainbow waiting indoors, Leon’s sure he shines even brighter in that moment.

Oleana’s face flickers for a moment, unreadable, and then she turns to Rose. “That settles it,” she announces. “I must resign as your advisor, Rose.”

Rose sputters, red-faced. “ _ What?” _

Oleana waves to one of the knights nearby, beginning to descend the stairs. “I have a prince to serve,” she says over her shoulder, and then addressing the knight, says, “Get this man some clothes, will you?”

The chaos that breaks out is second only to the mayhem that had broken out at their arrival. Rose seems hopelessly confused, the crowd cheers louder than ever, and Leon and Raihan are both whisked away into the castle. They’re separated only by a door while Raihan changes in a nearby room, during which Oleana discusses business at hand with Leon, taking his sword and his shield from him. Wooloo sits next to Leon while Leon stands, listening.

“…As for your coronation, we’ll discuss that matter after the Wyndon Ball has come to an end…Prince Leon?”

Except that he stopped paying attention the minute that Raihan walked back in. Whoever dressed him apparently managed to dig up a tailcoat, but it looks nothing like Leon’s archaic style. There’s no cravat for one, but Raihan’s dressed in a deep, dark blue that matches his scales. Leon’s tempted to ask who was tasked with tearing a hole in the back of the pants for Raihan’s tail to sway free.

But the words trickle away uselessly in the wake of how  _ good  _ he looks. Raihan rubs the back of his neck, watching Leon with amusement. “Oh. You got a crown,” Raihan remarks, coming closer.

Leon touches the circlet on his brow, starting to smile. “This? I think—” 

Oleana claps her hands together, interrupting the both of them. “I suppose I should go ensure the ball goes on without any more distractions,” she decides aloud, then bows to Leon lightly. “We’ll talk about this later.” 

It sounds like a threat and a promise. Leon agrees quickly, and then they’re left alone in the hallway right outside the ballroom. If he listens close, he can hear the bustle of people beginning to, finally, start the ball properly.

Leon doesn’t go anywhere yet. He takes Raihan’s hand. 

“That went well,” Leon says brightly.

Raihan exhales. “You owe me a back massage,” he reminds him, but then he’s drawing Leon in for an embrace, one which Leon leans into gladly.

“I was thinking,” Leon says, muffled against Raihan’s shoulder, “we should go to Postwick after this.” 

“To drop off Wooloo?” Raihan asks, nuzzling at Leon’s hair, knocking the circlet askew. 

“There’s that, yeah. And I’d like for you to meet my family.” 

Raihan pulls back to give him a dubious look. “You sure that’s the next step?” 

Leon grins, pushing him lightly. “Don’t look so scared!” 

“I’m not  _ scared _ .”

“As your prince, I can decree it now. You’d have to—”

Whatever other teasing he has in store for Raihan has to wait, because Raihan kisses him so soundly that Leon has no choice but to bend beneath the weight of the affection. Raihan cups the back of his head and presses into his space until Leon’s held up only by the wall behind him, both hands fisting into Raihan’s lapels tightly.

When Raihan finally relents, Leon’s chest rises and falls so quickly, it feels as if he’s been in battle. Raihan lifts his free hand off of the wall to brush a wayward, twirly few strands of hair out of Leon’s face, but he lingers near.

“Come on,” Raihan says gently, soft. “Your kingdom awaits.” 

Leon laughs breathlessly, but he’s already slipping free of him, lacing their fingers together. “Ours, you mean.” 

Truly, it’s theirs now. And with the way Raihan squeezes Leon’s hand, Leon knows they’ll both take good care of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand that's that! I think this is about a whole 180 degrees different from what I intended to write when I set out to do this (which was: even less plot, even more kisses), but here it is, my lighthearted jaunt! Thank you for joining me on this ride, and I hope you enjoyed uwu <3


End file.
